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UNITED STATES OF AMERiCA. 










CHUMS 


Works of 

Maria Louise Pool 

* 

In a Dike Slianty 
Boss and Other Dogs 
Chums 

Little Bermuda 

* 

L, C. PAGE AND COMPANY 

(Incorporated) 

212 Summer St*^ Boston^ Mass* 







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“JULIA DID HER WORK 




(See page 83.) 


CHUMS 



MARIA LOUISE POOL 

AUTHOR OF 

“ DALLY,” “ A REDBRIDGE NEIGHBOURHOOD,” “ IN A DIKE 
SHANTY,” “FRIENDSHIP AND FOLLY,” “LITTLE 
BERMUDA,” ETC. 


JllustratfU ftg 
L. J. BRIDGMAN 



/ 


BOSTON 

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 

MDCCCC 



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Copyright, igoo 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incorporatbd) 

All rights reserved 

74283 : 


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Librairy of Cono<*4MM 

Iwu Coi'ltS Htctivto 

AUfi 24 1900 

Cofyrtfht f«try 


SECOND COPY. 

DHiverftd t« 

OROtR DIVISION, 

SEP 6 1900 



Colonfal ^Prew: 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 
Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 


CONTENTS, 


♦ 


CHAPTBR PAGE 


I. 

Setting the River on Fire 

. 



1 1 

II. 

What There Was in the Boat 



20 

III. 

Back at the Institute 




33 

IV. 

The Fate of the Roses . 




40 

V. 

Mercy in Disgrace 




50 

VI. 

Hunting for the Fugitive 




60 

VII. 

In the Algebra Class 




70 

VIII. 

Queen Mary’s Marys 




78 

IX. 

“ It can never Be Proved ” 




91 

X. 

Delivering the Letter 




109 

XI. 

A Surprise .... 




122 

XII. 

Bayside Trots 




143 

XIII. 

What Came of Fishing 




160 

XIV. 

Heartsease’s Temper 




170 

XV. 

An Omelet with Fine Herbs 




177 

XVI. 

Heartsease Missing Still 




190 

XVII. 

Low Blues . . . 




200 

XVIII. 

A Present .... 




209 

XIX. 

A Dry Time 




223 

XX. 

The Last .... 




229 







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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 




PAGE 

“ Julia did her work ” . . . . Frontispiece 

“ Mercy stooped and lifted the dwarf in her 

ARMS ” 30 

Mercy clambered from it on his back” . . 125 

“‘You don’t give us the slip, young man’” . 181 


* 


CHUMS. 


CHAPTER I. 

SETTING THE RIVER ON FIRE. 

A/TERCY ANTHONY suddenly flung 
open the door of the room across the 
hall from her own “ den ” in the “ Holden 
Mountain Institute for Young Ladies.” 

She was black of eyes and scarlet of dress, 
and altogether picturesque in her boating 
costume. 

“ Poor thing ! ” she cried out. “ Leave your 
quadratic equations and your unknown quan- 
tities, and come, oh, come with me ! The 
river waits below. So do the girls.” 

The girl addressed lifted her head from her 
two hands, revealing a flushed face, and an- 
swered in a deep voice, a voice so deep, in fact, 

II 


12 


CHUMS. 


that it was irresistibly ludicrous, and had been 
the cause of somebody’s calling Delight Chan- 
try “the Trombone.” Of course the name 
stuck fast, and the girl accepted it as grace- 
fully as she could. 

Delight looked at her neglected equations 
remorsefully. She said if she went now she 
would have to do them after the “ glims were 
doused, which would necessitate a ‘ smuggler,’ 
and a smuggler made her feel awful wicked.” 

Her friend begged her not to go and have 
conscientious scruples, as conscientious scru- 
ples were enough to sink the best boat ever 
built. 

The two girls hurried down the long hall 
which ran between the rooms in this wing, 
then out on a side piazza overlooking the 
valley at the base of the Holden Mountain. 
In this valley, a quarter of a mile away, ran 
the Holden River, where were numerous boats 
secured to the tree-shaded shore. On this 
evening of each week anybody could try her 
hand at the oars, and an instructor in rowing 
was present. Rather of a gala night it was, 
and as they hastened down the path the two 


SETTING THE RIVER ON FIRE. 1 3 

caught glimpses of the Chinese lanterns that 
were hung among the trees. 

Half a dozen girls stood around the boat- 
house as Mercy and Delight came down the 
path. Their gay flannel dresses and knicker- 
bockers made a pretty picture, and their 
chatter was like the chatter of nothing in 
the world save girls. Our two friends meant 
business, however, so they shouldered their 
oars, and marched silently down to the bank. 
Here a tall girl was just pushing off. She 
told Mercy eagerly that she would bet almost 
anything that she, Kate McDonald, could 
get beyond the last stake up by the gas-works 
first. 

“ Almost anything means nothing,” replied 
Mercy. “ Do be a little more definite.” 

“ My next cake from home, then,” responded 
Kate. 

“ Done ! ” was the answering shout. The 
next moment four more boats had shoved out 
and entered the race. Delight and Mercy, in 
their craft, were putting forth all their skill, 
and were in advance. 

It was a mild night in June, The air was 


H 


CHUMS. 


sweet, the river calm, and the gay voices, the 
splash of water, the snatches of song, the lights 
hung here and there, explained why the boat- 
ing season was so eagerly longed for. 

Mercy suddenly paused in her stroke, and 
the boat swept out of its course. 

“ What is that ahead of us ? There ! Don’t 
you see something white ? ” she asked. “ What 
is it ? If I know anything about a ghost I 
should say that is one. I’m going to turn 
back.” 

“No, no! ’’cried Delight, peering forward. 
Her eyes were longer-sighted than those of 
her companion. “ It’s a child, I think. But 
what child could be out on the river alone 
this evening ? And the boat is going like 
lightning. Oh, I could almost say it is a 
sprite. How do sprites look ? ” 

There was something very weird in the 
sight of the white object, dimly visible, glid- 
ing over the dark water. 

The two girls were now at the very limits 
of the space where they were allowed to row. 
The last Chinese lantern was some rods be- 
hind them. Before, on the banks of the 


SETTING THE RIVER ON FIRE. 1 5 

river, there rose blackly the building of the 
gas-works which supplied the town of Holden. 

The girls were forbidden to go more than a 
few yards beyond the last lantern, and already 
this boat hovered just over the boundary. 
Neither of these two often broke rules. 
Though wild and spirited they had a sense 
of honour. 

“We must go back,” said Delight. 

“ But I can’t go. I must find out about 
that,” was the excited response. 

“Oh! Oh!” 

There was fear mingled with the surprise 
with which this exclamation broke from their 
lips. Something had happened in front of 
them. 

The white figure in advance had ceased its 
gliding motion and apparently had lighted a 
match, for the small flame glowed for an in- 
stant over the tiny being which sat in a wee 
shallop. The flame revealed a face no larger 
than that of a child. But was it the face of a 
child.? 

From the movement the figure had seemed 
at first to be looking at a watch. Then the 


i6 


tHUMis. 


lighted taper was suddenly flung over the 
side of the boat, and instantly the whole river 
was in a blaze. 

The two girls sat motionless, their wild eyes 
and colourless faces turned toward the strange 
scene. The flames leaped and ran. The 
little white form in the midst of them had 
thrown up its arms, uttered a sharp cry of 
terror and then fallen forward in the bottom 
of the boat where nothing could be seen of it 
but a portion of its drapery, whether of skirt 
or coat could not be distinguished. 

“ Row ! For heaven’s sake, row ! ” cried De- 
light, as the flames seemed coming toward 
them, licking across the top of the water. 

“ But what will become of that creature ? ” 
was Mercy’s question. 

She was so bewildered that she could think 
of nothing coherently. In the next moment 
she said : 

“ The flames are not coming here. Don’t 
you see that they are dying away ahead of us ? 
Do you think that is a human being.? I’d 
give everything in the world if I were safe in 
my room! Oh, Delight, don’t you think we 


Setting the river on fire. 17 

ought to try to do something to help that little 
imp out there ? I wonder why he isn’t dressed 
in a tight suit of red, with cloven feet and ^ 
tail. He must be an imp or he never could 
have set this water to blazing like that. You 
know very well we couldn’t have done it. We 
can’t set the river on fire.” 

Mercy’s voice ran on excitedly ; she hardly 
knew what she was saying. The fire was in- 
deed not coming toward them, but it was 
blazing rapidly across the river nearer to the 
gas-works, curling along like some mysterious 
live thing. 

The being in the little boat had not moved. 
There it still lay, a white fold of its dress falling 
in the water ; and now Delight pointed to an 
oar which was floating on the water beyond 
reach of the occupant of the boat. 

“We must do something to help,” said De- 
light. “ If you would only stop talking for 
a minute, Mercy, perhaps we might be able 
to think to some purpose. I never heard a 
tongue go on like yours.” 

“ It’s such a relief to be able to gabble,” re- 
sponded Mercy, upon whom the unusual scene 


i8 


CHUMS. 


was beginning to lose something of its terrors, 
and who now felt that she liked excitement 
above all things. 

“ That boat is beyond the bounds,” said De- 
light, her deep voice somewhat raised, in her 
anxiety. “ But I call this a case where we 
must obey the higher law. You know Madame 
once gave the school a talk about that. Come 
on, Mercy ; it would be perfectly inhuman for 
us to go back and not help that thing.” 

Mercy dipped her oar in the water in unison 
with that of her companion. The faces of the 
two girls were white with excitement, and their 
eyes shone like stars. The pulses of both 
were throbbing heavily, and each had a curi- 
ous kind of feeling that it really was likely 
to be something uncanny, not of this earth, 
that they should come upon there in the bit 
of a shallop. 

Mercy looked back. By the light of the 
lanterns she could see, far behind them, that 
the girls who had come in that direction 
were now rowing toward the boat-house. It 
was time to return. She did not think the 
others could ever be made to believe what 


SETTING THE RIVER ON FIRE. 


19 


she had seen. She shivered a little ; she wished 
she also could return. She glanced at her 
companion, and, finding that Delight was look- 
ing so preternaturally solemn, had much ado 
to keep herself from screaming outright from 
sheer agitation. 

Instead, she bent to her oar, and the next 
moment they had reached the strange boat, 
while along the river’s banks the mysterious 
flames were dying away. 


CHAPTER 11. 


WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 

T)Y this time the river seemed very dark. 
^ There was no moon, and when Mercy 
put her hand out and laid hold of the edge of 
the other boat, she was guided only by the 
white clothing of the occupant. 

“ If we were only boys,” she said, in a whis- 
per, “ we should have matches in our waistcoat 
pockets. What on earth is to be done } ” 

Even as she spoke, the eyes of the girls 
could distinguish a little more clearly in the 
darkness. 

“ Hullo, there ! can’t you wake ? ” shouted the 
Trombone, in her deepest voice. 

Delight was really quaking with terror, and 
she felt that she must put on some semblance 
of bravery. 

Nothing stirred in the boat. 

“ It has either fainted away or it is dead,” 


20 


WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 


21 


said Delight. “ Mercy, if you feel that you can, 
will you shake this being a little ? I am sure 
I wish we hadn’t come out to row to-night. 
Do you think it is a child ” 

“No child could ever have handled a boat as 
this was handled.” 

As Mercy spoke, she put out a cold little 
hand and took hold of the shoulder of the 
figure in the boat, shaking it unsparingly. 

“ It is just limp and dead,” she announced. 

“ Is there a rope in this boat ? ” Delight sud- 
denly asked. 

“Yes; you know it’s a rule to have one in 
every boat.” 

Mercy felt about under the seat and drew 
forth the coil of rope. 

“ We’ll just tow this craft down to our boat- 
house; it’s the only thing we can do; and 
then we’ll send for one of the teachers and give 
up our prize.” 

It took only a short time after Delight had 
thus spoken for the two to turn about and go 
rapidly down the river, towing the stranger 
after them. 

“ I feel like a pirate who has just captured a 


22 


CHUMS. 


ship,” said Mercy, whose spirits were fast rising 
now. 

Just as she spoke, there came a sound like a 
moan from the boat behind them. 

Both girls instantly held their oars suspended 
in the air, while they looked at each other in 
consternation. 

The moan was repeated, this time accom- 
panied by a slight movement of the white pile 
in the bottom of the little boat. Then a head 
was raised, and a small, thin voice asked, pet- 
ulantly : 

“ What’s the matter ? ” 

“We don’t know what’s the matter,” mut- 
tered Mercy, under her breath, but Delight 
said: 

“We found you on the river; we thought 
you had fainted, and we are towing you to our 
boat-house.” 

“ Stop, then ! Stop immediately ! ” cried out 
the shrill voice, which appeared to be masculine, 
although very strange and small. 

“We are not rowing, as you will see,” replied 
Delight, “ but I think we must take you to the 
boat-house.” 


WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 23 

She did not know what else to do. 

They were now opposite one of the lanterns, 
and both the girls saw that the occupant of 
the boat was a tiny dwarf dressed in what 
seemed a kind of tunic of white wool. He 
was bareheaded, and his hair, very light 
and fluffy, seemed to grow in a fringe around 
his head, leaving the top bald, something like 
that of a tonsured priest. 

The girls afterward learned that he kept his 
head shaved in that way for some eccentric 
reason. 

The dwarf scrambled into a sitting posture, 
and tried to seize his oars, but one was lost; 
still he could scull. 

Even the girls, inexperienced as they were, 
saw directly that he was too weak to propel 
his boat. They had hoped he would be able 
to do so, and thus relieve them from the burden 
of responsibility, which they already began to 
feel to be rather heavy, particularly if this 
unknown person were going to forbid their 
taking him to their boat-house. 

He could not raise the one oar he had found, 
he was so weak. 


24 


CHUMS. 


What a strange little face he had ! Mercy 
was absorbed in looking at it. It was young, 
that of a boy of not more than fifteen or six- 
teen, she thought, but it surmounted a frame 
that might have belonged to a child of eight. 
Still, he had had strength to row. 

“You are not able to go by yourself,” said 
Delight, speaking more easily now that she 
saw the stranger was not older than them- 
selves. “You must let us take you.” 

“ I tell you I will not! ”he cried out, fiercely. 
“ I’ll pitch myself over into the river first ! We 
are too far down-stream as it is.” 

“ What do you wish us to do, then } ” asked 
Mercy, who had now lost all fear, and was quite 
enjoying the novelty of the situation. 

“ Take me back up the river. I shall not 
be strong enough to row or scull again until 
I have slept. I never do get back strength 
any sooner after I’ve had a fit. I suppose I 
had a fit, didn’t I } ” 

He asked the question as calmly as if he 
were inquiring how far it was to a certain 
point on the river banks. 

“ It was a very quiet fit, then,” replied Mercy. 


WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 25 

“ One of the worst kind,” was the unexpected 
response. 

This struck Mercy so ludicrously that she 
immediately inquired : 

“ Have you any great variety ? ” 

“ I have two phases of one kind ; that is all 
that is necessary for one diminutive mortal to 
have on hand, I think. Don’t you agree with 
me ? ” 

“ Decidedly,” said Mercy, hardly daring to 
laugh as she wished to do. 

“ But this is wasting time ; we shall be late 
for locking up if we are not careful,” said 
Delight. “ I hope you agree now to let us take 
you down.” 

“ But I don’t! You shall row me back.” 

The dwarf flung up his hands with an im- 
perative gesture. Plainly, he usually had his 
way. 

“ Instead of being grateful to us for what we 
have done for you, you order us to do more,” 
said Mercy, giving her head a toss. “ And 
you don’t care if we get into disgrace at the 
Institute.” 

“ No ; I don’t care in the least,” was the 


26 


CHUMS. 


response. “ But I know I can’t bear the sight 
of that part of the river, and I shall have 
another fit if you take me there. You 
are warned now.” 

There was indescribable astonishment on 
the faces of the two girls, but neither of them 
spoke. Both knew that more words would be 
useless, and both felt it would be inhuman to 
leave the dwarf where he was. 

They took their oars and were soon hurry- 
ing up the river. 

By this time the river was completely 
deserted by the girls who had been rowing, 
and Delight and Mercy could hear indistinctly 
their voices on the bank by the boat-house. 
The two knew very well they would be late, 
and they dreaded the waiting reprimand. As 
they rowed on in silence, it seemed to them 
that the explanation they would have to give 
for their lateness must appear very ridiculous. 

They wondered who this dwarf was ; they 
thought it very strange that they had never 
heard of him before, if he lived in the vicinity. 
If a sense of politeness had not prevented her, 
Mercy would have asked him his name boldly. 


WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 27 

If he had not been deformed, she felt she could 
have plied him with a great many questions. 

The stranger leaned back ; in fact, he almost 
reclined in the bottom of his boat, and he 
spoke not a word for a long time, but the two 
girls felt his wonderfully bright eyes directed 
toward them when they passed near the lan- 
terns. 

Looking back once. Delight saw that the 
lanterns were now being extinguished. Larry, 
the man-of-all-work of the Institute, was going 
his rounds, and the girls knew that the rest 
were in the building, and that in a few min- 
utes more they would all assemble to hear 
prayers read by Madame Delmont in the school 
parlour, and then the retiring bell would ring. 

Delight, in imagination, could see Madame 
Delmont’s keen, yet kind eyes looking along 
the rows of girls to see if all were there, and 
her heart sank at the thought of the displeased 
surprise which Madame would feel when she 
missed the two girls. But she would make no 
inquiries until after prayers, hoping the delin- 
quents would come in, and then, before dis- 
missal, she would ask the questions. 


28 


CHUMS. 


There was something in Madame Delmont’s 
rule at Holden Mountain which made the girls 
feel their honour involved in obeying. The 
girl must be reckless, indeed, who could face 
the principal of the school, after any misdeed, 
and have no feeling of penitence, even though 
it were a very fleeting feeling. 

“ Might we ask how far up the river we are 
to row you ? ” questioned Mercy, at last, when 
the gas-works had been reached and passed, 
and the dwarf had made no sign. 

He raised his head, which had been lying 
on the seat. They could see his eyes glitter 
through the dusk. 

“ It’s about a quarter of a mile farther on,” 
he replied, after he had looked around him. 

Mercy half groaned, thinking how late it 
would be before, by any possibility, they could 
return. 

“ I really hope we shall not have to spend 
the night in the grounds,” murmured Delight. 

Soon they were within sight of a wharf run- 
ning out into the river. It was painted white, 
and therefore could be seen in the darkness. 

“There’s the wharf of the Little Hope 


WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 29 

House,” remarked Delight. “ It must have 
been newly painted or we couldn’t have seen 
it so plainly.” 

The dwarf turned his head languidly. 
“ That’s where you are to land me,” he said, 
in a weak voice. 

“ Little Hope ” was a fine old stone mansion 
which had been vacant for the last five years. 
House and grounds had been cared for by a 
gardener and his wife. 

It was a colonial house with restorations 
and additions, and it seemed to the Insti- 
tute girls to be the ideal aristocratic country 
mansion. 

The boat grazed against the white wharf, 
and Mercy leaned over and drew in the rope 
attached to the other boat. The stranger 
made an effort to rise, sank back, and partially 
suppressed a slight moan. 

Mercy extended both hands, saying, pity- 
ingly: 

“ Let me help you ! I didn’t know you 
were so weak.” 

He staggered as he reached the wharf, and 
Delight said, quickly : 


30 


CHUMS. 


“ Do go up to the house with him, Mercy. 
I’ll wait here for you. It would be barbarous 
to leave him now.” 

The boy was so short, despite his years, 
that the well-grown girl could not offer him 
her arm to support him. She was puzzled. 
His piping voice said, despondently: 

“ You’ll never get me up to the house unless 
you take me in your arms. I really don’t 
weigh more than a few ounces. You might 
go up to the house to find Lewis ; but no, he 
has gone away to-night, and our folks haven’t 
come yet. The best thing you can do is to 
pitch me into the water. Then you can go 
back to your Institute and tell your Madame 
Delmont that you’ve done one good deed.” 

“ Take him in your arms, Mercy,” cried 
Delight, from the boat. “ There’s no other 
way.” 

Whereupon Mercy stooped and lifted the 
dwarf in her arms, where he clung with one 
arm placed lightly about her neck. 

“ I beg your pardon. I am sorry for you,” 
he said, more seriously than he had yet 
spoken. 


“MERCY STOOPED AND LIFTED THE DWARF IN HER 


ARMS 






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WHAT THERE WAS IN THE BOAT. 3 1 

“ I hope you will not bother about me,” she 
said, heartily. “ I am glad to be of service to 
you ! ” 

“ Thank you.” 

That was all there was said until the strange 
couple reached the entrance to the stone 
house. 

Mercy was directed to go to a certain door 
in one of the wings. She rang the bell there, 
and the dwarf insisted upon being put down 
upon his feet. 

Presently the door was opened by a middle- 
aged woman who threw up her hands in amaze- 
ment and exclaimed : 

“ Bless my soul ! Master Sanxay, is that you ? 
I thought you were in bed ! ” 

For reply the dwarf mounted the threshold 
and asked : 

“ Has Lewis returned ? ” 

“ No, not yet.” 

He who had been called Master Sanxay 
turned to Mercy. 

“ I was going to send Lewis to row you 
down the river, but he is not here, as I feared, 
and the other servants will not come until my 


32 


CHUMS. 


father and mother arrive. I shall not forget 
how kind you two young ladies have been to 
me this evening. My name is Sanxay Ranier, 
and we are coming to live here now.” 

The queer little bit of humanity spoke with 
dignity, and after assuring him, in her best 
manner, that she was glad they had been able 
to aid him, Mercy hurried away, looking back 
once to see the white-clad figure still standing, 
leaning against the door-post. 


CHAPTER III. 


BACK AT THE INSTITUTE. 

HE two girls, as they rowed rapidly down 



^ the river, were too much excited over 
their adventure to think of feeling any fear at 
being out so late. From down below in the 
village they heard the church clock strike 
eleven just before they reached the boat-house, 
and at the same moment the splash of oars 
sounded near them, a boat shot alongside, and 
as they shrank back, the voice of Larry asked : 
“ Are you some of our young ladies ? ” 

He had been sent by Madame Delmont to 
look on the river for the missing girls, and he 
had been down first in the other direction, and 
was just going up when he met them. 

Madame Delmont sat in her private parlour 
when there came a knock at her door. So 
anxious was she that, instead of calling “ Come 
in,” she rose and walked to the door and 


33 


34 


CHUMS. 


opened it. There stood the two delinquents, 
and the principal immediately thought that 
their faces did not show any great guilt. But 
what had kept them ? 

“ I am very glad to see you, for I have been 
very anxious,” she said, gravely. “ Sit down, 
and teir me what you have been doing.” 

Mercy Anthony’s eyes were now fairly 
ablaze. Her mercurial nature was under great 
stimulation from what had happened. 

“ Oh, Madame ! ” she exclaimed, quickly, 
“ did you ever see the river set on fire ? And 
did you ever carry an unknown dwarf home in 
your arms ? For that is what we have been 
doing.” 

Madame’s fine eyes opened widely. For an 
instant she thought she would reprove the girl 
for such a wild speech, but the brilliant and 
lovely face disarmed her somewhat, as such 
faces will do. The lady glanced at Delight 
in her plain brown dress, now rumpled and 
draggled, with her shawl twisted awry. 

Delight’s face was as much excited as that 
of her companion, but she was capable of 
more control. 


BACK AT THE INSTITUTE. 35 

What on earth had these girls been doing ? 

Instead of being full of excuses because 
they had transgressed the rules and were up 
for reprimand, they were entirely absorbed in 
some other thought. 

Perhaps the secret of Madame Delmont’s 
charm and power lay in the smile with which 
she now turned to Mercy. 

“ Tell me all about it,” she said. 

Quickly and with eager words the two girls 
told the story of the evening. 

“You cannot imagine how strange it was,” 
said Delight, in conclusion. “ It seemed as if 
a little demon had set that blaze going. We 
thought he was going to be burned up before 
our eyes. It was really dreadful ! ” 

The girl shuddered and put her hands over 
her eyes. 

“ There must have been benzine on top of 
the water,” said Madame. “You say it was 
opposite the gas-works ; that would account 
for the flame. The Raniers must be expected, 
if this were Sanxay Ranier whom you saw. 
They have been abroad. I remember to have 
heard their boy was not like others, but I did 


36 


CHUMS. 


not know he was so badly off as this; and he 
is their only child.” 

The last words were spoken more to herself 
than to the two girls. 

They were sent to bed, where they dreamed 
of burning rivers, and quadratic equations, and 
dwarfs until the morning. 

Long before the rising-bell rung, Kate 
McDonald put her head into Mercy’s room to 
ask in a suppressed voice what had been the 
matter. 

“ There was a pretty time here about you. 
The man sent down to Mill Village to look for 
you didn’t come back till after ten, and then 
hadn’t found out anything. If the faculty had 
had bloodhounds they’d have been let loose. 
It must be something to know one is of so 
much consequence.” 

That day, as the girls were trooping into the 
main hall after morning prayers, there was spied 
standing at the door of Madame’s parlour a 
man who bore a large basket of roses, whose 
perfume wandered along the wide hall in the 
fresh air. The sight and fragrance set every 
girl’s heart a-dancing. 


BACK AT THE INSTITUTE. 37 

“ Jacqueminots ! ” whispered one, gradually 
creeping toward the basket. 

“Jean Duchers!” said another, clasping her 
hands in ecstasy. 

“ And that beautiful, beautiful Perle des 
Jardines ! ” 

“ If I were only Madame Delmont, to have 
such a basket in my room ! ” 

“ But where could they have grown ? ” 

“ New York, of course.” 

After the man had gone Madame herself 
appeared in the doorway, bearing the basket of 
flowers in her hand. 

“ For Miss Chantry and Miss Anthony,” 
said she. 

It was Mercy only who came forward, for 
Delight was a prisoner in her room with 
the headache. 

“ They have just been sent over from Little 
Hope, with young Sanxay Ranier’s compli- 
ments to the young ladies who were so kind to 
him last night.” 

The recipient could only murmur incohe- 
rent thanks and bend her face over the odorous 
petals. 


38 


CHUMS. 


The other girls danced around the basket. 

“ To have had such a jolly time against 
rules, and then to be rewarded like this ! ” cried 
one. 

“ Yes ; we might be out until midnight every 
day of the week, and no one would think of 
sending us Jacks for it ! ” 

“No ; we should get a prison cell and bread 
and water ! ” 

“ And think of Madame’s smiles, too ! ” 

“ Who is Sanxay Ranier, anyway } Is he a 
prince, or just common flesh and blood ? ” 

Mercy turned at this last question, her face 
flushing a little in her earnestness. 

“You needn’t laugh about Sanxay Ranier,” 
she said. “ He’s a poor miserable little dwarf, 
for all his money ; and he has fits.” 

“ A dwarf who has fits ! Gracious ! But he 
must be interesting! You have very pleasing 
acquaintances. Miss Anthony.” 

This was said in a tone which had in it an 
unmistakable hardness and cruelty. 

Mercy quickly set down the basket, as if she 
could not reply while holding the flowers. 

“ Who said that 1 ” she asked, sharply. 


BACK AT THE INSTITUTE. 39 

A tall girl, dressed more showily than the 
rest, moved a few steps forward. 

“ I said it,” she answered, with an aggressive 
self-possession. 

She had a high-featured face, with eyes set 
too near together. She had only lately come, 
but she had fine dresses and a good deal of 
pocket-money, and immediately attained a cer- 
tain kind of popularity. 

There was the hush of expectation, for it 
was known that there was a kind of unac- 
knowledged feud between these two, almost 
since Julia Bowers had come. 

“ What did you mean ? ” asked Mercy. 

“ What did I mean ? What I said, of course. 
I hope you won’t bring your dwarf where I can 
see him ! Does he have a fit quite frequently ? 
Ugh ! How disgusting ! ” 

To Mercy there was something maddening 
in the tone and words. Her hands, hanging 
down by her side, clenched tightly. She felt 
her eyes distend and burn. Had she been a 
boy it is probable that she would have “ pitched 
into” Julia Bowers then and there. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE FATE OF THE ROSES. 

1Y/TERCY ANTHONY had, as yet, very 
little self-control. To try to make her 
more calm and cool had been one of Madame 
Delmont’s endeavours. 

“ If you want to respect yourself, don’t give 
way to anger.” 

This was a sentence she had heard so often 
from the principal that it came to her now. 

Although the girl felt as if she were choking, 
and as if her heart were beating all through 
her, she determined not to reply, though some 
taunting words rose to her lips. 

Her face was white, and her mouth tightly 
compressed, as she turned to take up the 
basket. 

There was a slight murmur among the 
group of girls ; a murmur of disappointment 
that, after all, there was to be no “scene.” 


40 


THE FATE OF THE ROSES. 


41 


“ Mercy Anthony is losing her spirit.” 

That whisper came to the girl’s ears and 
made her flush painfully. 

“ I don’t consider it is spirit that makes one 
quarrel with a girl like Julia Bowers ! ” she said, 
quickly, and then, lest she should speak again, 
she started hurriedly down the hall, and all the 
girls followed more slowly. They felt that 
there was a sense of thunder in the air, and 
if there were to be a tempest, they wanted to 
be on the spot when it burst. 

Two smaller girls brought up the rear of the 
straggling group. 

“ I say,” said one of them, in a hushed 
whisper, “did you see Julia Bowers’s face 
when Mercy said that.f^” 

“No; I was looking at Mercy; didn’t her 
eyes blaze, though ? ” 

“ But I’m afraid of Miss Bowers. She’ll do 
something horrid to Mercy, see if she doesn’t ! ” 
This prophecy was partially fulfilled a mo- 
ment later. 

Julia paused and whispered rapidly to three 
girls who were among the staunchest of her 
adherents ; then, before Mercy had gone 


42 


CHUMS. 


more than a few yards farther, the four sud- 
denly hurried on, keeping close together, 
and one of them brushed so violently against 
Mercy that the basket fell from her hand, and 
at the next instant, in the hustling, another of 
the girls had fallen nearly flat on the floor, the 
basket of flowers under her and crushed into 
a hopeless mass. 

“ Oh, pray excuse me. Miss Anthony ! ” 
flippantly exclaimed the girl who had fallen 
against Mercy. “ I was so very awkward.” 

Mercy stood leaning against the wall, very 
white and with a dangerous blaze in her eyes. 
She could not fail to know that this had all 
been arranged so that she might be annoyed. 

The girl who had tripped and fallen had 
well effected her purpose. Frail basket and 
frailer roses were entirely destroyed. She 
now scrambled to her feet, apparently ab- 
sorbed in the pain she suffered from her 
elbow, and making loud moans over it. 

Meanwhile, the other girls gathered around 
the crushed roses which fllled the air with 
sweetness. 

There were loud outcries of sorrow, ^nd 


THE FATE OF THE ROSES. 43 

among the loudest voices was that of Julia 
Bowers. 

Suddenly the latter felt a hand gripping her 
shoulder, and she heard the words : 

“ Fm glad Fm not as mean as you are ! I 
despise you ! I hate you ! ” 

Julia looked around and shook off the 
touch, asking insolently : 

“ What’s the matter now } Still thinking of 
your dwarf, are you ? ” 

But, despite the insolence of her words, 
there was something in the furious anger of 
Mercy Anthony’s face that somewhat cowed 
the tall girl. 

“ Stop talking about the dwarf ! ” com- 
manded Mercy. “You have destroyed those 
beautiful roses, and you did it on purpose ! 
Don’t deny it ! I won’t hear you ! Oh, won’t 
somebody take you out of my sight } ” 

Absolutely unable to endure her anger any 
longer, Mercy raised her hand as if to strike 
the exasperating creature before her, when 
there was a quick sweep of garments a short 
distance down the hall, and the voice of Ma- 
dame Delmont herself said : 


44 


CHUMS. 


“ Mercy ! Do not forget yourself ! What 
is the meaning of all this ? ” 

The lady was in the midst of the girls in a 
moment. Mercy’s hand fell to her side, and 
she stood silent, with lowered eyes, trembling 
visibly. She knew that appearances were 
against her. She felt that she had forgotten 
to be a gentlewoman, for it seemed to her as if 
she had really struck Julia. 

But there stood Julia as bold as brass, able 
to look Madame Delmont in the eyes, and to 
speak fluently. 

“ It was all an accident, Madame,” she be- 
gan, glibly. “ Miss Mills ran against Miss 
Anthony and knocked the flowers from her 
hand, and Sarah More was so unlucky as to 
fall directly on the roses. You see we were 
hurrying too much. I am sure I heard Peggy 
Mills beg Miss Anthony’s pardon ; but we all 
know what Miss Anthony’s temper is.” 

“ Be silent ! ” said Madame Delmont. “ If it 
be an accident, we will talk no more about 
it. I am sorry your flowers are ruined. Miss 
Anthony.” 

The lady let her eyes rest for an instant on 


THE FATE OF THE ROSES. 45 

the dark, disturbed face of Mercy, and from 
that gaze the girl drew a certain strength. 
Then Madame was wise enough to walk away, 
feeling that the affair had not been an acci- 
dent, but that it would have to be considered 
so. 

Going down into the main schoolroom, 
Madame Delmont met the teacher of rhetoric. 

“What is your opinion of Julia Bowers ” 
asked Madame, abruptly. 

Miss Noyes hesitated, then she replied: 

“ I do not like her. The tone of the girls 
with whom she associates has not been as 
good as before she came, but I can bring 
nothing tangible against her. I may be un- 
just, but I wish she had never come here.” 

Madame went on ; she mentally made a 
resolution to watch Julia Bowers. 

“We shall have trouble with that girl,” she 
thought, but she did not think how soon that 
trouble would come. 

Mercy Anthony broke away from the girls 
and hurried into Delight’s room. The re- 
action had come, and she flung herself on the 
bed beside Delight, and sobbed and cried with 


46 


CHUMS. 


such fury that Delight began to think she was 
going mad. 

“ Now just stop this,” she said, at last, 
in her deepest tones. “ What has happened ? 
You won’t have any head left, much less any 
eyes, if you go on in this way.” 

Mercy sat up and doubled her fists. Her 
eyes burned through her tears. 

“ I will get a revolver before I am a day 
older! I will not soil my hands by touching 
her, but I won’t live in the same world with 
her ! Oh, I won’t I ” 

“ Certainly not ; by all means, no,” was the 
response. “ Would you mind telling me who 
has got to die in this dreadful way ? ” 

^‘I always disliked her, and now I know 
why,” went on Mercy. “ She is a vile wretch — 
with her eyes so near together! and always 
out-dressing us all as if she were a king’s 
daughter and we poor, squalid things! She 
did it on purpose ! She meant to do it ! 
And Madame Delmont will think I was going 
to hit her ! Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! ” 

Delight seized Mercy’s arm and shook her, 
although it made her poor head snap to do it. 


THE FATE OF THE ROSES. 47 

“ Are you crazy ? ” she asked. “ Why does 
Madame Delmont think you were going to hit 
her ? Gracious ! Y ou might better tell me 
what you are talking about ! ” 

“ My poor roses ! — I mean our poor roses ! ” 
whined Mercy, subsiding from her belligerent 
state at that thought. 

Delight sank back on the bed, and gazed 
upward at the ceiling, while she inquired, de- 
spairingly : 

“ Will any one tell me what the girl is talk- 
ing about ? ” 

Mercy was now regaining a slight degree of 
composure. With a great deal of savage 
emphasis she related the story of the roses and 
their destruction. Before she had finished 
the bell for recitation rang, and she dashed 
out and tore into her own room in that kind 
of hurry which nobody in the world but a 
schoolgirl or schoolboy can feel. 

She was three minutes late, in spite of all 
she could do, and her books persisted in being 
upside down, and in dropping all the loose 
papers she had tucked between the leaves. 
Her heart was in a flutter, and her cheeks were 


48 


CHUMS. 


SO painfully red that she wished she might 
cover them with her hands. 

The recitation was algebra, and she was 
never particularly wise in that. Miss Holmes, 
the teacher, called upon her the very first one 
to demonstrate a problem on the board, and 
after mixing and y in dreadful confusion for 
a few minutes, she walked to her seat in a reck- 
less mood, not caring that several in the class 
giggled when they looked at what she had 
written. 

“ Miss Anthony will explain her problem,” 
said Miss Holmes, a quarter of an hour later. 

Miss Holmes glanced at the blackboard 
and remarked quietly: 

“ I should think any one might find it diffi- 
cult to explain that. You may remain after 
hours with me.” 

Mercy banged her book together with angry 
emphasis. She heard Julia Bowers, who had 
just successfully explained a difficult problem, 
whisper distinctly the words : 

“ Did you ever see such an idiot } ” 

The words stung her as with a poisoned 
knife. She felt that she could not endure 


THE FATE OF THE ROSES. 


49 


much more that morning; but she made a 
great effort to control herself. The memory of 
Madame Delmont’s voice and look came to 
help her, and she knew she had not pre- 
pared this lesson as she should have done. 

Miss Holmes, the teacher of mathematics, 
was a woman with a short temper. Stupidity 
exasperated her. 

“ Miss Anthony,” she said, “ I shall set you 
two extra problems to work.” 

“ It’s no good setting me problems,” retorted 
Mercy, defiantly. 


CHAPTER V. 


MERCY IN DISGRACE. 


HE girl had suddenly ceased all effort 



^ toward self-command. She felt very 
wicked and very unhappy. 

“You need not answer,” said Miss Holmes, 
sternly. 

But Mercy was not silent. She flung her 
head back and said again : 

“ I say it’s no good setting me problems. I 
never can do them ; and what is more, I shall 
not try.” 

“ Miss Anthony ! ” 

In the silence which followed Mercy heard 
a faint titter from Julia Bowers. The sound 
made her start up in her seat and dash her 
book and slate on the floor. 

“ Get Miss Bowers to work out the prob- 
lems,” she cried ; “ as for me, I won’t stay here 
for her to laugh at me ! ” 


MERCY IN DISGRACE. 


51 


Mercy stalked to the door with her head in 
the air and eyes blazing, but Miss Holmes 
glided in front of her and stood between her 
and the door. The teacher was hardly more 
than a girl herself, and she had never been 
spoken to in this way before. She was evi- 
dently trying to maintain her dignity, and her 
face was perfectly colourless with the effort. 

“You will not go out at present,” she said. 
“ I order you to go to your seat, while I write 
a note for you to take to Madame Delmont.” 

“Write your note,” said Mercy haughtily. 
“ I will not go back to my seat, but I will 
wait.” 

Miss Holmes had sufficient penetration to 
know that, having said those words, Mercy 
would not attempt to escape, so she walked to 
the farther end of the room to her desk and 
hastily wrote the following words : 

“ Dear Madame Delmont : — The bearer of this note 
has been impertinent and insubordinate. 

“ S. H. Holmes.” 

She gave the folded paper to Mercy, who 
walked out of the class-room with it in her 
hand. 


52 


CHUMS. 


In the long hall the sweet atmosphere of 
June suddenly gave the girl a heartache; but 
she did not lower her head an inch. She 
would not think at all. The school clock 
struck sonorously eleven times. Eleven 
o’clock! It seemed to her that days and 
days had passed since that basket of roses 
had been destroyed. She felt that she was 
growing wicked very fast indeed. 

She did wish very much that she might see 
Delight for one moment. She thought that 
the honest gray eyes of her friend might do 
her some good. 

She had been going on mechanically 
toward Madame Delmont’s parlour, but now 
she suddenly paused, feeling as if she could not 
possibly deliver that note, and meet the eyes 
of the principal fixed upon her, with the look 
in them that she knew would be there. 

She stood still, with the note fluttering in 
her fingers, then turned and ran down the hall 
as if she were pursued. She was possessed 
by the one idea that she must get away ; she 
could never see Madame Delmont after having 
behaved as she had done. And yet, in her 


MERCY IN DISGRACE. 


53 


fiery little heart, there was a confused but 
strong sense that she had been dealt with 
unjustly. Julia Bowers had gotten the better 
of her, and in such a way that Julia would not 
be punished, while she would be. 

But she could run away! This last idea 
came to her just as she reached the outer 
door, and looked across the fields, seeing the 
glint of the Holden River down in the valley. 

Impetuous, smarting under a sense of wrong, 
the girl turned and dashed back to her own 
room, where she seized her hat and shawl. 
At that hour of the day there was not likely 
to be any one in the halls. In a moment 
more Mercy was hurrying across the fields, 
not toward the river, but in the direction of 
Mill Village, which was situated on a rushing 
tributary of the Holden. 

She had not chosen her direction from any 
reason more defined than that of impulse. 
She told herself that, when the search for her 
began, it would start with the river. If it were 
found that she was not really anywhere in the 
building or the grounds, she was sure that her 
fondness for the river would be recalled. If 


54 


CHUMS. 


the boat-house had not been locked it would 
have been a temptation for her to take a boat 
and go down with the current. But she knew 
very well she could not find a boat, so she 
walked on among the dandelions, the excite- 
ment of her sudden resolution still sustain- 
ing her, and the bright sunlight acting as a 
stimulant. 

She had left in her room the note of which 
she had been the bearer, otherwise that might 
have hinted to her of repentance. 

She was upheld by the triumphant feeling 
that she was escaping from injustice. If Julia 
Bowers could manage to behave as she did, 
and go unpunished, what was the sense in her 
own disgrace ? No ; everything was wrong ; 
she would cut the whole thing. 

She put her hand in her pocket. How 
lucky that she had her purse with her. Her 
monthly allowance of five dollars had come 
the day before, and she had only spent a dol- 
lar of it at the pastry cook’s in Mill Village. 

There was a station at Mill Village, the 
station of a branch road that ran some twenty 
miles to a town of considerable importance. 


MERCY IN DISGRACE. 


55 


Without calculating beyond that point, Mercy 
walked to the station, a mile and a half across 
the fields. 

There was a train just rushing up as she 
mounted the platform, and without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation she sprang on the step, 
and when the train again started, leisurely 
sauntered through the car in search of a 
seat. 

She was silly enough to feel of considerable 
importance. Her cheeks were redder and her 
eyes brighter than usual. Her whole aspect, 
if she had only known, was one of excited 
defiance. But she thought she looked very 
calm, even nonchalant. 

“ One of the Institute girls,” whispered one 
lady to another. 

“ And she looks as if she were running 
away,” was the response from the other lady, 
who was of middle age, and who had that 
patrician air which comes of generations of 
culture and refinement. 

She watched Mercy, who had taken her seat 
a short distance in advance, on the other side 
of the car. 


56 


CHUMS. 


After a few moments the lady said to her 
companion : 

“ How very handsome that girl is ! She is 
like a splendid tropical flower. And she is cer- 
tainly in some sort of trouble. I don’t like that 
defiant toss of the head, and I don’t believe it 
is natural to her. She is trying to keep her 
courage up. I am going to speak to her.” 

The lady rose and sat down in the seat 
directly behind Mercy, and there came to the 
girl the odour of violets from a bunch which 
the stranger wore at her belt. 

The next moment, much to her surprise, 
Mercy heard a musical voice addressing her. 

“ I beg your pardon, but are you going far in 
this direction ? ” 

Mercy blushed. She was utterly unable for 
the first moment to answer, and then she stam- 
mered out the words : 

“ I really have not decided ; I had thought 
that I should go as far as — as far as — ” 

Here she paused in extreme confusion. 

The lady was silent for a moment, then she 
asked : 

“ Do you know what train this is } ” 


MERCY IN DISGRACE. 


57 


“ The train to Royal, of course,” replied 
Mercy, now venturing to glance once more at 
the fine face so near her own. 

“ It goes through Royal, certainly, but it is 
the express train to New York. It will not 
stop again within a hundred miles of here.” 

Mercy clasped her hands. She had vaguely 
contemplated telegraphing to her guardian from 
Royal. Now she began to be alarmed, and to 
wonder what would really be the end of this. 

“ But I thought these were only local trains,” 
she said, looking eagerly about her. 

“ It is a new arrangement,” was the reply, 
and then the lady asked: 

“ Are you not one of the Institute girls ? ” 

“ Yes ; I am — I was.” 

“ Don’t think me impertinent,” went on the 
melodious voice, “ but I am interested in you. 
I am afraid you are running away. I am so 
much older than you that I am sure you will 
let me advise you to go back.” 

“ But I can’t ; you told me the train did not 
stop.” 

“ That is true. Meanwhile, will you tell me 
what the trouble is ? ” 


58 


CHUMS. 


At this point the conductor came along. 
Mercy had no ticket, and she found it impossi- 
ble to say to what place she wished to go. She 
found herself in a very foolish position. 

She at last mentioned the name of the town 
where the first stop was made. The lady mo- 
tioned to the conductor, who bent his head 
and listened to her whispered words, while she 
gave him money and took the ticket he handed 
her. 

“ I have money with me ! ” exclaimed Mercy, 
turning around. “ Indeed, you make me very 
miserable ! I am not a beggar ! ” 

The tears began to come in her eyes. 

“ I had no idea you were a beggar,” was the 
response. “We will talk of that some other 
time. Now tell me what has happened to 
you.” 

Mercy could not resist the voice and look. 
She plunged into a somewhat tumultuous 
narrative, beginning with the evening before, 
when she and Delight had been on the river 
and had met the dwarf in such a peculiar 
fashion. 

“ He was very strange ; I think he has queer 


MERCY IN DISGRACE. 


59 


notions, but he is a real gentleman,” said Mercy, 
after she had told everything about their row- 
ing the boy home, and how she carried him 
up to his own door, because he was too weak 
to walk. So absorbed was the girl in her 
story that she did not notice any change in 
the lady’s face. She went on until she came 
to the roses, and then her listener said, in a 
low voice : 

“ Ah ! that was like Sanxay ! ” 

Then Mercy paused, and, looking at her 
companion, saw the curious, softened look on 
the high-bred countenance. 

“You know Sanxay Ranier! ” she exclaimed. 

“ He is my son,” Mrs. Ranier replied. 

Mercy sank back in her seat, her eyes falling, 
asking herself in terror if she had said anything 
to wound the boy’s mother. But she could 
not recall any word she wished unsaid, for her 
memories of the dwarf were very pleasant. 

“ You were kind to the son ; now the mother 
will be kind to you,” said Mrs. Ranier, speaking 
almost gaily. 


CHAPTER VI. 


HUNTING FOR THE FUGITIVE. 

A T the Institute Mercy’s absence was not 
discovered until after the dinner-hour. 

The girls were too hungry at first to take 
much note as to who was present and who was 
not ; when it came to pudding they began to 
glance around and to converse. 

“ Mercy Anthony is probably having bread 
and water in retirement,” said Julia Bowers to 
her right-hand neighbour. “ I hope she relishes 
her dinner. I never did see such a display of 
temper. I hope none of us will be murdered 
in our beds one of these nights.” 

Miss Bowers spoke in a tone that Miss 
Holmes might overhear, looking furtively at 
that lady. 

The latter possessed a sense of justice which 
made her turn and say, with some severity : 

“ It is silly to talk like that, Miss Bowers. 

6o 


HUNTING FOR THE FUGITIVE. 


6l 


Miss Anthony has been very impertinent and 
she has a quick temper, but she would never 
commit a crime, I am sure.” 

“ Even she will stand up for her, will she } ” 
thought Julia. 

Delight Chantry was not present at dinner. 
She was still confined to her room by her head- 
ache. 

After dinner Miss Holmes, feeling somewhat 
anxious about her saucy pupil, sought Madame’s 
parlour. 

“ I was sorry to be obliged to send Mercy 
Anthony up,” she said. “ The girl really has 
a noble nature, I think, but she was very saucy 
in the algebra recitation.” 

Madame turned from the bookcase where 
she was standing. 

“ But I have not seen her,” she said, in sur- 
prise. 

“ Not seen her! ” exclaimed the teacher, and 
then the story of Mercy’s conduct was told. 

Madame’s face became overcast, though she 
was far from suspecting the truth. 

“ She is doubtless in her room,” she said, 
and she went quickly to Mercy’s door. She 


62 


CHUMS. 


found it slightly open, for the girl had dashed 
off in too great a hurry to think of anything 
but to get away. 

After her first glance, which told her that 
Mercy was not there, Madame’s eyes fell upon 
a crumpled bit of paper on the floor. She 
picked it up and found it was the note Miss 
Holmes had sent to her. 

Now the principal began to feel alarmed. 

“ This is not like her,” she said to herself ; 
“ I did not think the girl was a coward.” 

She instantly thought of Mercy’s particular 
friend. Delight Chantry, and the next moment 
she was knocking at the door across the way. 

Delight was asleep at last, and said, in a 
dreaming voice, “ Come in,” but she started 
up, wide awake, when Madame appeared at 
her bedside. 

“ I hoped to find your friend Mercy with 
you,” said Madame. 

Delight raised herself on her elbow, and the 
blinding pain above her eyes began again. 
She instantly remembered the fury in which 
Mercy had left her and rushed to recitation 
in the morning. 


HUNTING FOR THE FUGITIVE. 63 

“ Oh, what is the matter ? ” she cried. “ Is 
Mercy in disgrace } I don’t believe she has 
done anything bad. Where is she ? ” 

“ That is what I hoped you could tell me,” 
was the reply, and Madame briefly related 
what she knew, ending by saying: 

“ But of course she is in the grounds 
somewhere. It will be painful to me to 
punish her as I shall be obliged to do.” And 
she left the room to order the grounds to be 
searched. 

Thus left. Delight could not remain still. 
Though her head throbbed and burned, she 
rose and dressed hurriedly, and went out into 
the hall, the first person she met there being 
Julia Bowers, who informed her in a very 
solemn tone that Mercy Anthony had run 
away, and that the police were to be put on 
her track. 

“ I always thought she would disgrace the 
Institute,” she concluded, “and I only hope 
she hasn’t stolen anything. I am going to 
look over my things to see if they are all 
there; she always liked that gold penholder 
so much.” 


64 


CHUMS. 


Delight looked at the girl with ill-suppressed 
fury. 

“ Of course you judge people by yourself,” 
she said, and walked away. 

The grounds were ransacked, but, as we 
know, the search was unavailing. 

It was now nearly three o’clock. The 
pupils had been rigorously summoned to the 
schoolroom at the proper time, and the usual 
routine was kept up, but in the minds of all 
the girls was the exciting knowledge that one 
of their number had run away. What would 
happen next? 

Madame had just sent Larry down to Mill 
Village to make inquiries, while she was going 
to drive in the opposite direction, when De- 
light, who was the only one excused from 
school duties, and who was standing on the 
piazza gazing down the road as if she ex- 
pected her friend to appear there, saw the 
form of a half-grown boy turn the corner and 
approach. He held something yellow in his 
hand. Delight turned and ran to Madame’s 
room, where that lady was putting on her 
shawl and bonnet. 


HUNTING FOR THE FUGITIVE. 65 

The telegram read thus : 

“To Madame Delmont, Holden Mountain Institute : 
— Am on my way to you with Miss Anthony. 

“ Mary Ranier.” 

She looked up from the message and ordered 
the horse back to the stable. Then, glancing 
again at the bit of paper, she said : 

“ But stay. I will go to the station. The 
next train is due in half an hour.’' 

She had nearly reached the carriage when 
she remembered Delight, whose anxiety was 
fully equal to her own. She looked back and 
saw the forlorn figure standing with one arm 
about a pillar, watching her with a wistful, 
eager face. 

“ Would you like to come with me ? ” asked 
Madame, and the next moment the girl was 
seated beside her. 

They arrived at the station some minutes 
before it was time for the train. 

Delight could not sit still ; she left the car- 
riage and walked quickly up and down the 
platform. 

At last the train was heard, the whistle 
sounding from the lower crossing. 


66 


CHUMS. 


Among the people who alighted was Mercy 
Anthony, and she was instantly seized upon 
by Delight, who exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper: 

“ I hope you have made sensation enough 
this time, you horrid little thing ! What do 
you mean by frightening us all to death and 
then coming back in this style ? ” 

Mercy looked weary and much subdued, but 
there came a flicker of her old spirit into her 
eyes as she asked : 

“ Would you rather I hadn’t come back at 
all?” 

There was no time for more words now. 
Delight saw with immediate admiration the 
lady to whom Mercy turned, and whom she led 
toward the carriage where Madame sat. De- 
light had not known who had sent the tele- 
gram, and she followed now, feeling curiosity 
as well as interest. She saw with amazement 
Madame quickly step from the carriage and 
advance toward the stranger with both hands 
outstretched, and a look of glad greeting on 
her face. 

Naturally the two girls shrank back, and 
they failed to hear the words which passed 


HUNTING FOR THE FUGITIVE. 67 

between the old acquaintances. Soon, how- 
ever, Mrs. Ranier turned, and, taking Mercy’s 
hand in her own, she said in words which 
sounded lighter than her voice : 

“ This is the fugitive, Madame Delmont. 
She has lost her bravado air altogether, as 
you see. I promised to defend her in this 
dread interview. Will you take her back ? ” 

“ Certainly I will take her back,” was the 
reply. “We will talk this matter over when 
we have reached the Institute,” — she turned 
to Mrs. Ranier and begged that she would be 
her guest until the evening, — “and then I will 
drive you to Little Hope, if you wish,” she 
added. 

The two girls were crowded on the front 
seat with the boy who was driving. They had 
not gone many rods before Delight reached 
forward and whispered in her companion’s 
ear: 

“ Is she a friend of the Raniers ? Why does 
she go to Little Hope ? ” 

“ She is Mrs. Ranier herself,” was the an- 
swer, with something of a triumphant tone. 

“ The dwarf’s mother.^ ” 


68 


CHUMS. 


Mercy nodded, and Delight opened her eyes 
to their utmost extent to signify her amaze- 
ment. 

“ Where in this world did you pick her up ? ” 

“ It was she who picked me up,” and then 
in an enthusiastic whisper, “ I tell you she is 
splendid ! ” 

“ Easy enough to see that,” the other re- 
sponded, calmly. 

After this Mercy sank into a very despond- 
ent state, and averred that she would rather be 
put on the rack than go through the coming 
interview with Madame Delmont. 

“ The punishment, whatever it is, won’t be 
half so bad as the interview. Oh, dear, I feel 
as if I should drown myself ! ” 

Mercy covered her face with her hands, and 
sat thus until the carriage turned into the 
drive through the grounds of the Institute. 
Then she looked up, and her dark cheeks 
were red, her darker eyes burning. If she saw 
Julia Bowers, she would not blench, she told 
herself ; so it happened that it was a somewhat 
defiant-looking girl who left the carriage and 
stepped up on to the piazza. 


HUNTING FOR THE FUGITIVE. 69 

There were several pupils strolling about; 
they all stood and stared intently. Mercy’s 
one swift and sweeping glance told her that 
Julia Bowers was not among them. 

She was sent to her room to remain until 
Madame should send for her. Delight was 
forbidden to go to her. As Madame went to 
Little Hope with Mrs. Ranier, the summons 
did not come until after nine o’clock in the 
evening. Thus the culprit had plenty of time 
to meditate on what she had done, and to 
wonder what would now be done to her. 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE ALGEBRA CLASS. 

1\ /TEANWHILE it was not ten minutes 
after her arrival before the fact was 
known that Mercy Anthony had been brought 
back, and the tongue of every girl in school 
was wagging on the subject. Some, taking 
their cue from Julia Bowers, wondered if she 
really had stolen anything, but that thought 
was scouted by nearly all the pupils as being 
too preposterous to be entertained at all. 

Watch and wonder as they would, nothing 
was seen that night of Mercy Anthony, and 
nothing transpired. 

Delight decided that she also would stay 
in her own room, and, indeed, her head was 
still “very odd,” as she informed Kate Mc- 
Donald, who came to call upon her after pray- 
ers, and to make some inquiries. 

“ Don’t ask me,” said Delight, fretfully. “ I 

70 


IN THE ALGEBRA CLASS. 


71 


don’t know where she has been, nor what is 
going to be done about it. You’ll have to wait 
and see.” 

“ But that lady isn’t the dwarf’s mother 
really, is she?” persisted Kate, sitting down 
on the foot of Delight’s bed. 

“ Yes, she is.” 

“Well, then, I must say that if ever two 
girls were in luck, you two are. You’ve just 
made a friend of her by having a chance to be 
kind to her little manikin, and now probably 
she will influence Madame to give Mercy a 
reward of merit for running away. That will 
be the end of this affair. Some folks are born 
to have greatness thrust upon them,” she fin- 
ished in a doleful whine. 

“ Don’t you think, Kate, your imagination 
is rather getting control of you ? Do go away 
now and leave me. I want to go to sleep.” 

Kate went to the door, then put her head 
back to say : 

“We shall see what will happen in ''the 
algebra class to-morrow morning,” and at last 
vanished. 

The girl had rightly predicted that Mercy 


72 


CHUMS. 


could hardly be allowed to make her appear- 
ance at that time as if nothing had occurred. 

When Delight took her place for the 
algebra recitation all the girls were there save 
Mercy Anthony, and there was a sense of 
expectation in the air. Miss Holmes was at 
her desk. 

Directly, however, the door opened, and Ma- 
dame appeared, followed by Mercy, who looked 
very pale and very resolute. 

Madame sat down on a chair close to the 
entrance, and Mercy walked quickly up to 
Miss Holmes, who rose as she approached. 

“ I wish to say I behaved very ill to you 
yesterday,” began Mercy, in a high, distinct 
voice. “ I am sorry, and I beg your pardon.” 

The look of wretchedness and excitement 
on Mercy’s face touched the teacher instantly, 
and, in truth, she was not one to bear the 
child malice. 

“ I am sure I forgive you with all my heart,” 
she replied, earnestly, and then some quiver in 
Mercy’s face made Miss Holmes suddenly put 
her hand on the girl’s shoulder and stoop and 
lightly kiss her forehead. 


IN THE ALGEBRA CLASS. 


73 


That kiss might better not have been given, 
for it put to rout Mercy’s hardly-kept self- 
control. The kindness made her cover her 
face with her hands, and sobs shook her slight 
frame. 

“ Go to your seat,” said Miss Holmes, and 
she instantly began the lesson, so that Mercy 
had time to recover herself. 

And this was the end of that episode in 
Mercy’s life. There was no punishment in- 
flicted upon her. 

That night, when Delight was with her in 
her room, and suggested that she should be 
told what Madame had said the evening before, 
Mercy’s expressive face grew grave, and she 
said, more seriously than she usually spoke : 

“ I am not going to talk about it, even to 
you. Delight; but I hope when I grow up I 
can be as glorious a woman as Madame is! 
But that is absurd enough, isn’t it ? ” and then 
Mercy continued her tale of the adventures 
which befell her in the hours while she was 
away. 

As the faithful Trombone kissed her friend 
good-night, she said : 


74 


CHUMS. 


“ The worst of you, Mercy, is that one never 
knows what you’ll do next ; only I am always 
sure it won’t be anything mean, your temper 
is too short But I can be in better business 
attending to my own faults, than telling you 
yours,” and Delight betook herself to her own 
room, while Mercy, as she put her head on her 
pillow, said to herself : 

“ It’s a fact about my temper. I am fright- 
ened about it myself ; it just blazes up before 
I can do anything to keep it down, and when 
it once gets in a flame, it’s just no use.” 

Matters in the Holden Mountain Institute 
went on very calmly for the next few weeks. 
The little ripple created by Mercy’s escapade 
soon subsided. It was summer now, and the 
pupils were preparing ardently for the exhibi- 
tion which was always held at this season. 

This time there was to be something more 
pretentious than anything before attempted. 
The instructor in rhetoric. Miss Noyes, had 
written a little historical play, adapting the 
characters as well as she could to the different 
girls who were to personate them. She had 
chosen the time of Mary Stuart’s residence in 


IN THE ALGEBRA CLASS. 


75 


Holyrood, and the Scottish queen, her maids of 
honour, and female attendants were the char- 
acters. The topic, perhaps, was rather am- 
bitious, but the plot and the carrying it out 
were simple enough. The catastrophe was 
the discovery of a plan to imprison some of 
Mary’s friends, and showed how the clouds 
were already lowering over that unfortunate 
woman. 

The whole was done with considerable skill, 
and the “affecting parts,” as the girls called 
the pathetic passages, were written very well 
indeed. 

They were all wild over the play, and began 
the study of it as soon as the parts were 
assigned. 

“ Won’t it be jolly cried Kate McDonald ; 
“ and the costumes ! ” 

“ There is’n’t a girl in the school who can 
take the part of the queen,” said Julia Bowers, 
decisively. 

A murmur of assent from the Bowers faction 
followed. r' 

“ Well, then, there is,” was the emphatic re- 
joinder from Kate. 


76 


CHUMS. 


“Who is it.?” asked Julia; “I suppose it 
isn’t a secret ? ” 

“ Not a bit of it. It’s Mercy Anthony.” 

“ Gracious ! ” Miss Bowers was greatly 
affected by the preposterousness of this idea. 
“ I don’t see how we can have a black Mary 
Stuart,” she went on. “ Everybody knows that 
the queen was fair, and that her hair was light, 
or reddish.” 

“ Mercy isn’t black,” asserted Kate. 

“ But even you will be kind enough to admit 
that she is dark,” said Julia, in her most ex- 
asperating tone. 

“No matter; she can wear a wig, and I’ll 
paint her face and her eyebrows,” replied Kate, 
who was now rather bent upon irritating Julia; 
“ and,” she added, “ Mercy is the only girl here 
who has an air, — a bearing. You’ll see who’ll 
be chosen.” 

“ An air ! a bearing ! For my part I can’t 
conceive what there is in that little tanned 
thing to make some of you girls rave so ! ” 

Kate, having had what she called “ a rise ” 
out of Miss Bowers, turned away. 

Events proved that Kate had been a true 


IN THE ALGEBRA CLASS. 


77 


prophet. When the list was given out by 
Madame Delmont, opposite the words, “ Mary 
Stuart,” was the name of Mercy Anthony. 
Among the other actors were some of the 
girls we know. Delight, Kate McDonald, and 
Julia Bowers. 

When the latter had read the appointments, 
she said, sullenly : 

“ I shall not take my part.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ It’s nothing but that of a servant to call 
people to supper, or something of that sort.” 

“ But you’ll have to take it ; we can’t all be 
queens, you know.” 

Julia crumpled the paper in her hand and 
went to her room. She knew there was no 
appeal. She was not heard to grumble any 
more, but there was a spark of anger in her 
heart which kept growing larger and larger. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 

HIS first rehearsal was a time that tried 



the author’s soul. How could those girls 
be so stupid.'^ It was not until Mercy, as 
Mary, entered, that Miss Noyes drew a breath 
of relief. The girl seized upon the sense of 
each sentence, and her unconscious grace went 
well with her picturesque and tropical face. 

After her first speech of greeting to Mary 
Beaton, who had returned to her after an 
absence. Miss Noyes dropped her roll of manu- 
script and softly clapped her hands. 

Mercy’s face flushed with surprise and 
pleasure, and Delight Chantry, who was 
Mary Beaton, whispered hurriedly: 

“Look at Julia Bowers! She will put 
arsenic in your coffee to-morrow morning ! ” 
Julia had averted her face. The dialogue 
went on, but Delight could not forget the 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 79 

look of hate she had seen in Julia’s coun- 
tenance when Miss Noyes had applauded. 

“ She’ll bear watching,” she thought. She 
soon forgot everything, however, but her 
interest in the play, and when Kate Mc- 
Donald, as Mary Hamilton, came in sing- 
ing the old rhyme in her high, sweet voice. 
Delight did not remember the existence of 
Julia Bowers. 

“ There was Mary Beaton, 

And Mary Seaton, 

And Mary Carmichael 
And me.” 

Then the four Marys took up the song to 
pleasure their queen, and their fresh glad 
voices rang through the hall. 

Great was the astonishment of all the girls 
when Julia, after the rehearsal, congratulated 
Mercy on the way she had taken her part. 

“ For all that,” thought Delight, “ I don’t like 
the look in her eye.” 

Every day was crowded after this, and twice 
busy were those upon whom depended the 
fate of “ Queen Mary’s Marys,” as the play 
was called. 


8o 


CHUMS. 


The costumes had been ordered by Madame 
from New York, and were to be in every way 
like those worn in Mary Stuart’s time. Do 
you wonder that the girls were half wild, and 
could think of nothing else.'^ To add to the 
excited expectation, the school was invited 
for the day after the exhibition, which fell 
on a Wednesday, to a garden party at Little 
Hope, in celebration of Sanxay Ranier’s birth- 
day. 

The day came at last, and the large hall 
was crowded. The curtain in front was a 
miracle of an amateur curtain, for it would 
roll up, and it would also roll down. 

All the minor “ pieces ” came first. Then 
the people consulting their programmes found 
the play was to be next. 

Madame Delmont, sitting near the stage, 
could hardly conceal her anxiety, but the 
curtain at last rose, and Delight Chantry, 
alone, delivered the opening lines. She spoke 
so clearly, and with such just emphasis, that 
Madame almost felt assured of the success of 
the affair. Close to her heart, however, was 
the thought of Mercy Anthony, and when, 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 8i 

with a flourish of instrumental music, the 
girl came in and spoke to Mary Beaton, 
there was that soft yet queenly courtesy in 
her manner and her speech that directly 
moved the audience, and they applauded 
vigorously. 

One might well have been surprised at 
Mercy’s appearance. No one would have 
known her in the rich and beautiful trained 
dress, setting with such quaint grace upon 
her girlish figure ; the hair of a reddish tint, 
the eyebrows no longer dark, the complexion 
clear and somewhat fair. The dusky eyes 
showed more lovely than ever in such guise. 
But after the first delight in her costume, 
Mercy forgot it entirely, and as the play 
proceeded she was absorbed more and more 
in her part. 

But only with the last scene have we a par- 
ticular interest. It was then that something 
occurred which had not been set down. 

During the whole play Julia Bowers had 
behaved, as Delight herself had acknowl- 
edged, in a perfect manner. She was a mere 
servant, and she had “ effaced herself ” as a 


82 


CHUMS. 


servant should do. Behind the scenes she 
had been kind, and had helped about the 
dressing, for she possessed a “ knack ” in 
the matter of arranging a ribbon or a fall 
of lace. 

The curtain was up for the last scene. 
Mary Hamilton and Mary Carmichael were 
on, and talking of some late severity of John 
Knox toward their beloved queen. In a mo- 
ment all the rest of the characters, save the 
queen and the serving-maid, Julia Bowers, 
had entered. News had been received of a 
new wickedness of Darnley’s, and Mary was 
both sorrowful and alarmed; she expected to 
leave Holy rood ; clouds from England were 
gathering over her. The scene was to be 
impressive. 

Before Mary came upon the stage there was 
to be a slight change of dress ; her garb was to 
be more subdued. There was scant time to 
make the change, and Julia Bowers hurriedly 
assisted. The two were alone in the little 
curtained recess that served as dressing-room. 
Quickly Julia’s hands moved about, arranging 
head-dress and lace. She had put Mercy 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 


83 


down in a chair, and she knew very well 
that the girl was thinking of nothing but her 
part. Boldly, with two or three dashes of 
scissors, two or three twists of deft fingers, 
Julia did her work, and stepped back just in 
time to exclaim in a whisper: 

“ There’s our cue ! We must go on ! ” 

Mercy, who had been listening for the cue, 
started up and walked on to the stage, followed 
by Julia, so that now all the characters were 
present. 

Some indescribable change passed over the 
faces of the four Marys as they looked at their 
queen, who addressed Delight in a tone of love 
and sorrow: 

“ Beaton, my sweet friend, it grieves my 
heart that I must think of parting from thee. 
Comfort in sorrow thou hast always been to 
me,” and she went on, too absorbed to see the 
curious look on Delight’s countenance ; think- 
ing still of nothing but the spirit of the part 
she was personating. 

Poor Delight ! she seemed to be threatened 
with a convulsion. After one look at her 
queen she had instantly cast her eyes down, 


84 


CHUMS. 


and now stood with drooped eyelids, while her 
countenance worked painfully. 

Among the other Marys there was a sound 
like a half-strangled titter, and there was an 
ominous movement among the audience, — a 
movement evidently restrained now by good 
breeding. Madame Delmont, on Mercy’s last 
entrance, had actually grown pale with vexa- 
tion as she looked at her; she had half risen 
from her chair, and then had sunk back 
again, and was now gazing at the stage with 
contracted brow^ and compressed lips. 

Sanxay Ranier and his mother sat very near 
the principal, and the dwarf’s small, supersen- 
sitive face was a sight to see, there was so 
much of surprised anger in it. 

Mercy, seeing Delight’s continued hesita- 
tion, began to think she had forgotten her 
part. Where was Miss Noyes, who had been 
acting as prompter all the evening? That 
lady, after one look at Mercy on her last 
entrance, had fled into one of the vacant 
rooms, where she was weeping tears of rage 
and disappointment. 

Mercy now, in order to assist Delight, and 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 85 

give her time to remember, repeated her own 
lines. 

Delight, still with her eyes on the ground, 
twisting her fingers forcibly together, now 
managed to speak the words of her part, 
uttering them in a hoarse monotone, with no 
particle of expressiveness. 

Julia Bowers stood in her place to the left 
of the queen, and behind her. She also had 
her eyes cast down, and her face was as im- 
movable as if it had been cast in bronze. 

When Delight had finished speaking, she 
had an attack that resembled strangling, which 
appeared to be brought on by one quick glance 
that she ventured to give her queen as she 
ended her response to her. 

Instead of standing still to hear if Mercy 
had any more lines to repeat. Delight began to 
back away, with her head bent, and continued 
to undergo the symptoms of strangling. 

There were more pronounced signs of some 
emotion among the audience, still held in 
check, however. 

Mary, Queen of Scots, had not said all 
she had to say to her faithful Mary Beaton, 


86 


CHUMS. 


and she made a surprised motion to recall her, 
which the maid of honour obeyed, coming up 
much closer than was necessary, and managing 
to say, in a gurgling whisper : 

“ For goodness’ sake, hurry up! You’ll kill 
us all!” 

The queen stared, and asked, in a rapid 
aside, audible only to the girl she addressed : 

“ Are you crazy ? Go on with your part ! ” 

And then she instantly went on with the 
remainder of her own speech, which had 
been intended to move the loving Beaton to 
tears, and to affect the other three maids of 
honour. 

Delight plainly made a mighty effort to gain 
self-control, an effort which sufficed only to 
cause her to be able to stand still like a block, 
and listen to the affecting words which Mercy 
uttered with an intensity of pathos which, 
under the proper circumstances, would have 
brought real tears to Delight’s eyes. 

The three other Marys had evidently also 
resolved to stand their ground; they would 
not retreat; but they could not look at their 
queen. 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 


87 


At last Mary Beaton was permitted to step 
back, and now the queen addressed Mary 
Hamilton. It will be remembered this was 
the part assumed by Kate McDonald. 

Here Sanxay Ranier again whispered to 
his mother: 

“ I declare those girls are good stuff ! I 
should do something worse than they do.” 

Mary Hamilton did not choke in the least. 
She replied instantly in a high-pitched voice 
that rang all over the hall, and her words were 
spoken so rapidly that no one understood a 
syllable. The next thing she did was to raise 
her eyes to the queen, and then she turned 
and ran off the stage, her long silk train swish- 
ing and rustling behind her. 

The audience felt that they could endure no 
more; they broke into prolonged peals of 
laughter, which were increased when Mary 
Stuart turned to them with a look of wonder. 

“ She certainly acts as if she didn’t know 
what we are laughing at,” thought the dwarf. 

Delight caught hold of Mercy’s arm and 
pulled her out into the dressing-room, while 
the other girls followed, including Julia 


88 


CHUMS. 


Bowers, who now permitted herself to join in 
the merriment. 

Delight’s grip unconsciously tightened on 
the arm she held. She was not laughing 
now ; she was looking very angry. The play 
had failed; had been turned into ridicule at 
the moment of its success. 

“ This is too much, Mercy ! ” she cried. “ I 
cannot see what you mean ! It’s too bad ! I 
didn’t think you would do such a thing ! ” 

But Mercy was far more angry than any of 
them. She considered that the play had failed 
through some incomprehensible manoeuvre of 
the other girls. She shook off Delight’s hand 
fiercely. 

“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “You have 
ruined everything among you I What set you 
giggling and choking ? Are you a set of 
idiots } ” 

“How much do you think we can bear.^^” 
suddenly asked Kate McDonald. “ You come 
on the stage in that style, and then talk of our 
giggling and choking ! It’s a mercy we were 
not choked to death, I say I ” 

Mercy glared savagely, and then there was 


QUEEN Mary’s marys. 


something that made the girls suddenly fall 
to laughing again in that convulsive, over- 
whelming way known only to schoolgirls. 

But Delight Chantry laughed only a mo- 
ment. She saw that she had misjudged her 
friend ; and she saw also that Mercy was fast 
becoming dangerously angry. She again took 
her arm, and retained it in spite of the twitch 
that tried to free it. She led Mercy to the 
small mirror which had been hung in the im- 
provised dressing-room. 

“ Look there,” she said. 

Mercy looked in the glass. She saw that 
the head-dress had been removed from her 
head, that half the fair wig had been cut off, 
the remaining half having been held in place 
by two long hairpins. So one half her hair 
was deep black, the other of a bright fairness 
that made a striking contrast. 

“And as if that were not enough,” said 
Delight, “your train is pinned up above the 
tops of your shoes behind. You are a 
ridiculous-looking object. Neither Charlotte 
Cushman nor Ristori could be pathetic in 
such a rig as that. You look as if you were 


90 


CHUMS. 


drunk, or had had a fight. Now what does it 
mean } 

Before Mercy could answer, Julia Bowers 
said : 

“ I told her that she would be carrying a 
joke too far. But she was bound to have a 
lark.” 

Mercy turned and gazed at the speaker 
stupefied. 


CHAPTER IX. 


“it can never be proved.” 

"DEFORE any one else had spoken further, 
the heavy curtain which screened the 
dressing-room from the hall was put back, and 
Madame Delmont entered. Miss Noyes had 
not yet the courage to appear. Madame’s face 
was stern. It seemed to her unpardonable 
that the play should have been ruined so wan- 
tonly. Mercy might have high spirits and an 
inordinate love of fun, but this, indeed, was 
too much. It was almost incredible, too, that 
Mercy should have played such a trick, when 
she had seemed so to enter into the spirit of 
her part. It had, doubtless, been the result of 
a sudden, mischievous impulse. Who would 
suppose that it could have been done by any 
one save Mercy, or without her knowledge ? 

The girls all became silent when the prin- 
cipal appeared. 

91 


92 


CHUMS. 


“ Miss Anthony,” she said, in a low voice, 
“ go to your room.” 

Mercy had been gazing at Julia all this time. 
With an effort she now turned and looked at 
Madame. Then she stammered : 

“ I do not understand, — it was very un- 
lucky. How did it happen ? ” 

“ I must have been entirely mistaken in this 
girl,” thought Madame. Aloud she said, coldly, 
“ Do not reply. Go to your room.” 

Delight suddenly stepped forward and said, 
quickly : 

“ Please, Madame, listen to me for one mo- 
ment ! Mercy couldn’t have done it ! She 
was too much interested in the success of the 
play, — she loved her part too well ! She 
couldn’t have done it ! ” 

“ Pray how could it have been done without 
Miss Anthony’s knowledge and consent ? ” said 
Madame. “We will not talk any more on the 
subject now.” 

Mercy turned and walked away, presenting, 
as she went, a spectacle ludicrous in the 
extreme. 

“ The rest of you will change your dresses 


IT CAN NEVER BE PROVED. 


93 


and be ready for the collation,” said Madame, 
and then she lifted the curtain again and re- 
turned to the hall, where she was greeted by 
many remarks and questions, to all of which 
she replied, briefly : 

“ It was some very ill-chosen practical joke.” 

To Mrs. Ranier she said more : 

“ I could have believed such a thing of any 
girl in school sooner than of Mercy Anthony. 
It is painful to have one’s opinion so changed. 
It was a mean trick. I am deeply dis- 
appointed.” 

Sanxay was standing near his mother and 
he overheard the words. He touched Ma- 
dame’s arm and said, with respectful emphasis : 

“ She did not do it ! I’ve been thinking it 
over, and I’m sure she isn’t the girl to do a 
mean thing like that.” 

The lady did not believe what the dwarf 
said, but she liked him for saying it. In a 
moment he spoke again : 

“ Please don’t keep her away from my party 
to-morrow, Madame Delmont.” 

“ She is in disgrace. I cannot let her go,” 
was the reply. 


94 


CHUMS. 


Perhaps it was because Julia Bowers was so 
very active in carrying about coffee and cake 
at the supper that Delight Chantry was rather 
a laggard in that respect. 

She was standing near one of the open 
windows, gazing gloomily about her, when a 
voice at her elbow said : 

“ Where is she ? ” 

Delight turned and saw the dwarf looking 
earnestly up at her. He had a small tray with 
cake and ice-cream upon it. Delight replied 
immediately : 

“In her room.” 

“ Locked in ? ” 

“ Oh, no ; I think not.” 

“ You know the way there ? ” 

“ Of course.” 

“ Show me, then, if you please.” 

Delight hesitated, and Sanxay said : 

“ It’s not against the rules, is it .?” 

“ No.” 

“ Go ahead, then, and if there’s anything 
said, I’ll come to the front.” 

Delight turned and went out at the nearest 
door, followed by the boy, bearing his tray. 


IT CAN NEVER BE PROVED. 


95 


Here they met Julia Bowers, who made 
some gay remark as they passed. Sanxay 
looked at her and said “ Snake ! ” in a whisper. 

“Why do you say that.f^” asked Delight, 
moved to confide in the shrewd looking little 
person near her. 

“ Because she is one. Do you know what I 
think } ” suddenly asked Sanxay, coming nearer, 
as they walked along the solitary hall. 

The two paused a moment, and the bright 
eyes of the dwarf looked up at his companion. 

“ I think,” he went on, with emphasis, “ I 
think she did it.” 

“ So do I,” with equal emphasis. As neither 
had spoken a name, it must be left to the 
reader to guess who was meant. 

“ But it can never be proved,” said Delight, 
dejectedly. “ Of course it’s reasonable to think 
that such a thing couldn’t have been done 
without Mercy’s knowledge, and Julia will stick 
to the story she has already told.” 

“ And that is ? ” 

“ That Mercy did it for a lark, although she 
advised against it.” 

“ And Miss Anthony denies it .? ” 


96 


CHUMS. 


“Not yet; but I know her face; I know 
she was as shocked as we had been, when she 
looked in the glass.” 

“ We’ll get at the truth,” said Sanxay, con- 
fidently. 

“ It can’t be done ; it’s one of the cases 
where two people assert opposite things, and 
unfortunately the probability is against Mercy.” 

By this time they had traversed the main 
building and were in the wing where were 
the rooms of the two girls. They stopped at 
Mercy’s door and Delight knocked. In a 
moment the door was opened, and the dim 
light in the hall revealed Mercy’s figure. She 
failed to see Sanxay, who had fallen back a few 
steps. 

“ How are you } ” asked Delight, taking both 
the girl’s hands in her own. 

A kind of shudder shook Mercy’s frame, but 
she did not attempt to reply. 

“ We’ve brought you something,” went on 
Delight, and now the dwarf came forward. 

Mercy took the tray and said, “ Thank you,” 
standing in the door with it. 

“ I want to ask you one question,” suddenly 


“it can never be proved.” 97 

said the boy, “ Did you make yourself ridic- 
ulous for that last scene ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Did you know but that you looked all 
right.?” 

“ No.” 

“ I just wanted to ask you,” remarked he, in 
a relieved tone. “ Of course I knew you didn’t. 
Now / am convinced about it, and the thing is 
to convince others.” 

Mercy did not reply. Delight saw that she 
looked pale and exhausted, and that her eyes 
were hideously swollen. She had been weep- 
ing her heart out there alone while the others 
had been feasting; that was why she seemed 
stupid and indifferent. 

“ Oh, Mercy ! ” suddenly exclaimed Delight, 
flinging her arms about her friend, to the great 
danger of the ice-cream and cake, “do you 
think I’m having a good time down there .? I 
hate it all ! I wish they were all at home 
where they belong ! Everything is spoiled for 
me, now ! ” 

This outburst from the usually calm Delight 
roused Mercy. She struggled to keep the 


98 


CHUMS. 


tray straight and to return Delight’s em- 
brace. The consequence was that cake and 
cream slid to the floor outside the threshold. 

Sanxay uttered an exclamation, and said he 
didn’t bring refreshments for such a use. 

“ I’m so much obliged to you,” replied Mercy, 
“ but I couldn’t eat anything — I should choke,” 
and a dry sob came with the last words. 

“ I say,” he suddenly cried, “ this thing isn’t 
going to stop you from coming to my party, 
is it?” 

Mercy gave another sob, and said, indis- 
tinctly : 

“ Of course it is ! I wonder what they will 
do with me ? I should deserve something 
awful if I could play such a mean trick.” 

The strictest investigation brought nothing 
to light. Mercy denied pointblank all knowl- 
edge of the change made in her appearance in 
that last scene of the play. Julia Bowers as 
pointedly persisted in the assertion she had 
first made, — that Mercy had done it for a lark. 
Of course things looked very dark for Mercy. 

Madame repeated and varied her questions. 


“ IT CAN NEVER BE PROVED.” 99 

“You know it is unreasonable to think we 
can believe you did not even know that your 
wig was cut down the middle ? ” she said to 
Mercy. 

“ Yes, it is unreasonable,” said the girl, dully. 

Madame could not refrain from making a 
slight gesture of impatience. In spite of her- 
self, her heart relented as she looked at the 
girl before her. Though her judgment went 
against her, some intuition was in her favour. 

All the explanation Mercy could offer was 
that her mind was so taken up with her part 
that she didn’t know what was done to her. 

Julia told her story in a perfectly collected 
way and in these words : 

“Just before it was time for Miss Anthony 
to go on the last time, she turned to me and 
said she would do something to make them 
stare; we would have a lark that was worth 
while. And then she said I must help her. I 
advised her not to do it, the play had gone on 
so well. But she was bound she would, and 
told me I might do as I pleased about helping 
her. She stepped to the glass, caught up the 
shears, and cut the wig, and I pinned up her 




lOO 


CHUMS. 


train. We both laughed; we couldn’t help it; 
but I was afraid. Then we had to go on. It 
all happened in a minute. I think the idea 
came to her suddenly, and she carried it out 
without reflecting.” 

Miss Bowers was questioned, but she held 
to her story. 

“ Where was the half of the wig put ? ” 

“ She threw it under the stand. She said if 
there had been time she would have had one 
eyebrow black and the other light.” 

The girls could not help smiling at the 
thought, and at the memory of how ludicrous 
Queen Mary had looked. 

Mercy, hearing Julia’s plausible words, had 
listened to her and looked at her with utter 
amazement upon her face. 

When she had finished speaking the last 
time, she advanced a step toward her and 
asked, almost with awe at such falsehood : 

“ Do you believe what you are saying } ” 

“ Certainly, I am telling the truth,” was the 
glib response. 

Madame did not check Mercy ; she sat 
watching the two girls closely. 


IT CAN NEVER BE PROVED. 


lOI 


“ I said to you that I was going to have a 
lark in that last scene ? ’’ 

“ Yes, you did.” 

“ And I cut off the wig ? ” 

“ Yes, you did.” 

“ And I said that about my eyebrows ? ” 

“ Yes, you did.” 

“Julia Bowers, have you always been able 
to lie as easily as this ? ” 

There was an audible sensation at this ques- 
tion. The girls silently touched each other 
and exchanged glances. 

Mercy was now thoroughly roused. Her 
head was upreared, and her eyes were ablaze. 

“ I am not lying ; I am telling the truth,” 
said Julia. 

“ Aren’t you very sorry you were so wicked 
as to pin up my train ? ” asked Mercy. 

“ I am sorry I did that.” 

“ Do you ever happen to tell the truth ? ” 

“ I always mean to tell the truth.” 

There was something in Mercy’s distended 
eyes that at last made J ulia a trifle uneasy. She 
wondered how long Mercy would be allowed 
to put her lawless questions. She found it a 


102 


CHUMS. 


great effort to keep her eyes fixed on Mercy’s 
face, and she would not, for anything, lower 
her glance. She knew that Madame Delmont 
was looking at her, and that Delight Chantry 
was watching her closely. She began to be 
frightened, although she failed to see any 
chance by which her guilt could be brought 
home to her. 

“ Madame Delmont,” suddenly cried Mercy, 
turning to that lady, with a confiding move- 
ment that was inexpressibly touching, “do you 
think I could have done such a thing Do 
you think I could tell you a falsehood about 
it? Don’t you believe what I say? Did I 
ever tell you an untruth ? ” 

Madame did not reply instantly. Impul- 
sively Delight moved nearer her friend. 

“ One of you must be telling an untruth,” the 
lady said, at last, “ and how am I to be sure 
which one it is ? I do not know that either of 
you ever told me a falsehood. You must see 
for yourself that what Miss Bowers says is the 
most probable. It was bad enough that such 
a piece of mischief should be done, but it is 
worse that thisdie should be told by one of my 


“it can never be proved.” 103 

girls. I am going to send you both to your 
rooms until noon, and I request that no one 
go near either of you. I want you to think 
over this matter, and I sincerely hope and 
believe that the one who has spoken false- 
hoods will confess. I will not allow myself to 
think that either of you can persist in such 
wickedness.” 

Madame rose. She was greatly depressed ; 
she had no desire to go to the birthday cele- 
bration. She reproved herself for the wish 
she felt to turn to Mercy and take her in her 
arms. Not until the girl had confessed could 
she do so. 

Could she be expected to believe that 
Mercy had not really known that her wig 
was mutilated in that way ? Of course it was 
possible; but certainly Miss Bowers’s story 
had all the air of probability. The principal 
felt weary and perplexed as she saw the girls 
leave the room. She turned to Miss Noyes 
and asked : 

“What is your impression of all this.? We 
have been mistaken in Mercy Anthony, I sup- 
pose .? She is capable of playing an ugly trick 


104 


CHUMS. 


and then of telling a falsehood about it after- 
ward ? ” 

Miss Noyes roused herself from some ab- 
sorbing thought. She could not recover from 
the chagrin which she felt from the ridicule 
which Mercy’s trick had brought upon her 
play. How could she help believing that 
Mercy was guilty? 

“ There is very little doubt in my mind,” 
she answered. “ She has not, after all, as fine 
a nature as we had thought. It is very easy to 
misjudge one who has a manner which seems 
frank and generous.” 

These words, in Madame’s mood, made an 
impression. She felt strongly that she was 
so predisposed in favour of Mercy that she 
might be unjust to Miss Bowers. 

“Perhaps some confession will be made,” 
she remarked, as she rose to leave the 
room. 

When noon came, instead of sending for 
the girls, Madame decided to go to their 
rooms and see each alone. 

Julia Bowers looked almost ill, so red were 
her cheeks, and so pale was she about the 


“it can never be proved.” 105 

mouth. Madame thought her eyes were 
sharper and brighter than ever. 

Julia had evidently been lying on the bed. 
She opened the door for Madame, and offered 
her a chair. 

But the lady only put her hands on the 
back of the chair, and asked, “ Have you 
anything to say to me ? ” 

“ Nothing but the same things over again,” 
was the reply. 

“You are very sure of that.f^ Remember 
that I shall consider your answer now as 
final.” 

“ Yes, Madame, I am sure.” 

“ I hope you are not ill ? Shall I send you 
any medicine.^” 

“ Thank you, no. I am only tired and 
worried.” 

Julia’s lip quivered and her eyes filled. 
Madame was sorry for her ; she recom- 
mended her to lie down, and then left her. 

Mercy was evidently walking her room, for 
rapidly treading feet sounded from that direc- 
tion, and the door was opened the instant 
Madame knocked. 


io6 


CHUMS. 


The girl’s face was tear-stained and pale, 
and she looked hopeless and weary. 

“ I hope you will own your fault to me 
now.” 

The principal’s kind voice penetrated to the 
girl’s heart. She pressed her clasped hands 
tightly together. 

“ I cannot ! I cannot ! ” she exclaimed. “ It 
was not my fault ! I knew nothing about it ! ” 

After a moment Madame replied : “ Do you 
comprehend how everything is against you — 
how no one could know the circumstances 
and not believe that you at least knew what 
was done.^” 

“Yes, Madame, I comprehend.” 

“And you will not confess to me, Mercy 

“ It would be a lie to say I did know, when 
I did not.” 

“Unless this affair be cleared up, I do not 
see how, under the circumstances, I can allow 
you to remain here at school.” 

“ Y ou would expel me ? ” Mercy trembled 
as she spoke, but her eye was courageous. 

To be expelled meant more to her than it 
would have meant to girls who had parents. 


“it can never be proved.” 107 

Her guardian’s house had never been a 
pleasant home to her, although no one was 
really unkind. She was far happier here at 
school with her friend Delight than she had 
been since her mother died when she was a 
child. She felt instinctively that her guardian 
and his family would not find it very hard to 
believe ill of her. 

“ I do not know what other course I could 
take,” said Madame. “ But it would be very 
different if you would make confession. What 
you did was an unkindness to the author of 
the play ; still, a childish impulse toward mis- 
chief might be pardoned. A persistency in 
evil, however, could not be.” 

Madame Delmont wondered if the girl 
knew how much it hurt her to speak those 
words. Mercy said nothing. 

“ To-morrow, before the pupils leave, I shall 
announce my decision,” said Madame, and 
then she left the room, not trusting herself 
to look again at Mercy. 

“ There is something here which I fail to 
understand,” she thought, as she went to her 
own apartments. She sent word shortly after 


io8 


CHUMS. 


that the two girls were to remain in their 
rooms the rest of the day ; they could neither 
of them go to the party. Julia had confessed 
sufficient complicity in the trick to justify her 
being forbidden to go also. 


CHAPTER X. 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. 

HE pupils were to go to Little Hope 



^ down by the river side, and they had 
already started, convoyed by several teachers. 

The carriage was waiting for Madame and 
the rest of the teachers, when Delight Chantry 
appeared at the principal’s door. She was 
breathless and flushed. 

“ I thought you had gone,” said Madame, in 
surprise. 

“ I did start ; but I don’t wish to go.” 

“ Not wish to go ! ” 

“ No, Madame. I’d rather stay here. And 
if you would please let me just go to Mercy’s 
door and tell her I am not gone to the 
party?” 

“ So you stay at home for your friend’s 


sake?” 


“You see, it wouldn’t be any pleasure to 


I lO 


CHUMS. 


me, knowing she is shut up here ; and then 
it might be a comfort to her to know I was 
near her.” 

Delight spoke sadly, and with no anima- 
tion. 

Madame felt that she had never had an 
affair to deal with which puzzled and dis- 
tressed her so much. She did not hesitate 
about giving her consent to Delight. 

Sanxay Ranier’s party was a great success. 
Never were grounds so lovely, flowers so 
beautiful and sweet; never were cake, cream, 
sherbet, so delicious; never were plays so in- 
spiring and entertaining. 

“ Where are Miss Anthony and Miss Chan- 
try ? ” asked Sanxay, when he had seen every 
one, and had come back to Madame, who 
stood with his mother under a grape arbour. 

He was soon told. 

“ They are the nicest girls in the Institute,” 
he said, with emphasis. “ I wouldn’t have 
given the party if I had known they were not 
to be here.” 

“ Sanxay ! ” said his mother, reprovingly. 

“ Fact, though, and why can’t I say it } ” 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. 


1 1 I 


Meanwhile, at the Institute, whose windows 
and doors were open to the sweet, warm air. 
Delight was sitting on the floor by the door 
of Mercy’s room. She had a book in her 
hand. 

“ You ought to have gone to the party,” said 
Mercy from behind the door. “ It’s a shame 
for you to be here.” 

“ I’d rather be here; so don’t make any moan 
about that,” was the response. 

A long silence would follow, and then Mercy 
would again remonstrate with her for having 
remained, and add, “ But it’s such a comfort to 
have you here.” 

So the long afternoon and twilight at length 
passed. 

A servant came up and brought their supper. 
Finally, Delight went to her own room opposite 
Mercy’s, and then, after what seemed an age, 
the girls were heard coming back, laughing, 
talking, and singing. 

At last the whole building was quiet. Mercy 
lay on the outside of her bed, for she had not 
taken off her dress. She was sleeping pro- 
foundly. 


I 12 


CHUMS. 


When the next morning dawned, everybody 
felt as if something unusual were about to 
happen. 

“I shall have to expel her, ’V was Madame’s 
first thought. “ For the sake of the rest, I 
cannot allow such a thing to go unpunished, 
and there is no reasonable chance that she is 
not guilty. I am letting my feelings influence 
me too much.” 

After breakfast there was all the bustle of 
approaching departures. The piazza was full 
of trunks ; already long “ depot wagons ” were 
driving up to take girls to the earlier trains. 
Madame was as busy as she could be, when a 
servant came to her and gave a message. 

“I think Miss Bowers is sick. I took her 
breakfast to her, and she couldn’t eat it; she 
don’t look right.” 

It was soon discovered that the servant’s 
opinion was correct. Madame found Julia 
with every symptom of fever, and she des- 
patched Larry to Mill Village for the doctor 
who usually attended the pupils. 

“It’s a fever; what kind I cannot tell until 
to-morrow,” was the doctor’s decision. “ In the 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. II3 

meantime it will be as well not to allow any of 
the girls to go to her room.” 

“ Shall I send to her parents ? ” 

“ Not yet. It’s a good thing the pupils are 
packing off. They’ll go to-day, won’t they ? ” 

“ Yes, except two or three who remain here 
through vacation.” 

“ I will see that she has proper care until 
you come again,” said Madame, and prepared 
to sit with the sick girl, who, as the hours 
went by, seemed very ill indeed, lying and 
moaning, with eyes half closed. 

Madame sent to say that she would see 
Mercy Anthony as soon as she was released 
from her care of Julia. 

It was one of Madame Delmont’s character- 
istics that she never thought of herself when 
any of her pupils were ill. They were as sure 
of gentle and thorough care as if they had 
been at home. 

Several times during the next few hours 
Madame was called out to say good-bye to 
groups of girls who were just starting for 
different trains, and by the middle of the after- 
noon there were but six girls left in the Insti- 


CHUMS. 


II4 

tute. Three of them were to stay through the 
vacation, and the others were Julia, Mercy, 
and Delight. The latter lived only about two 
hours’ ride in the steam cars from Mill Village, 
and she had taken upon herself the respon- 
sibility of deciding to remain over until the 
next day. She was even meditating the pro- 
priety of sending a telegram to her mother. 

She was sitting on her trunk in her room, 
having put the last thing beneath the lid, and 
was looking desolately about her, when the 
door was suddenly opened without a previous 
knock, and some one entered precipitately. 
Delight felt her neck imprisoned by two arms, 
and she heard Mercy’s voice saying between 
sobs: 

“ It’s all over ! It’s all over ! ” 

As soon as she could. Delight asked : 

“ What do you mean ? Please remember 
that I can’t breathe if I am choked to death ! 
What’s all over ? ” ^ 

“ / am all over ! There’s an end of me as 
far as Holden Mountain Institute is concerned. 
That is what I mean ! ” 

Mercy released Delight sufficiently to enable 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. II5 

the latter to sit up, and Mercy sat down beside 
her. The girl’s cheeks were crimson, and 
there were tears upon them. 

“ You are not expelled ?” questioned Delight. 

“ I am. I am to start for home by the seven 
o’clock train to-morrow morning. I am to 
take a letter to my guardian. Don’t you envy 
me ? ” 

Delight jumped up from her trunk. 

“ I am going to Madame ! ” she exclaimed. 

Mercy caught hold of her dress, and said, 
quickly : 

“ No, you won’t, either ! There’s no use in 
it. Madame has just left me. How can you 
blame her? There’s nothing else for her to 
do, and I really believe she hated to do it. She 
explained that, mean as the trick was, she 
didn’t expel me for that, but for persisting in 
saying I knew nothing about it.” Mercy sprang 
to her feet and flung out her hands with un- 
conscious dramatic gesture, as she cried, “ But 
I didn’t know it! I knew nothing about it! 
I’m the victim of circumstances,” and she 
laughed hysterically, and then began to sob 
violently. 


ii6 


CHUMS. 


“ Fm not going to stand this ! ” said Delight, 
with determination. 

She pushed Mercy gently on to the bed, 
then left the room and sought Madame, who, 
very much wearied, was lying on the lounge 
in her parlour. 

But it was of no use, as Mercy had predicted ; 
for Madame was convinced she had done the 
only thing left for her to do, and she was as firm 
as she was gentle. She listened kindly and with 
sympathy, but Delight w’as obliged to leave her 
without having won any concession. 

“ If I am mistaken, no one can be so sorry 
as I shall be,” she said, “ but I must act ac- 
cording to my judgment.” 

And so it was decided. Delight went back 
sadly. She felt rebellious. How could she 
return to the Institute and not find Mercy 
And she knew that Mercy had no pleasant 
home, although it was a luxurious one. 

“ It’s no use,” she said, drearily, shutting her 
door and putting her back against it, looking 
at the figure on the bed. 

“ I told you so,” was the response, in a 
muffled voice. “ And now I don’t care what 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. II7 

becomes of me. I shall have a horrid time all 
through vacation, and then be sent to some 
dreadful school at the end of it. And you 
won’t be there ! If I were a heroine I’d blow 
out my brains ! ” 

“ Heroines don’t do that ; it isn’t ladylike,” 
said Delight, gravely. “ It’s only heroes who 
take it for granted they have brains to blow 
out.” 

“ That’s such an old joke,” said Mercy, 
smiling feebly. 

“ I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” cried Delight, 
brightening visibly. “ I’ll get my mother to 
invite you to spend your vacation with me. 
Something will happen in all that time to 
make things better. You know my folks are 
farmers. Oh, we’ll have a jolly time ! ” 

Mercy got off the bed and hugged her 
friend. Her eyes danced. 

“ There never was such a Trombone as my 
Trombone,” she cried. 

But her gaiety faded away when she really 
was ready to start home with the dreadful 
message in her pocket ; for Madame chose to 
send the letter by Mercy. 


ii8 


CHUMS. 


Delight was to go in an opposite direction 
two hours later. 

The only bright spot ahead to Mercy was 
the knowledge that Delight’s invitation was 
to come in the course of a few days ; but then 
there was the uncertainty as to whether she 
would be allowed to accept it. The letter 
which she had to deliver was not a very good 
preparative, she knew, toward any favours. 

She was obliged to ride in the cars until two 
o’clock in the afternoon, and she was tired and 
cross when she reached the large inland city 
where her home was situated. 

There was no one to meet her; indeed, it 
had not been known at what time she was 
coming, so she walked alone the short distance 
from the station to her home. 

She mounted the marble steps and rang the 
bell, feeling a great inclination to turn and 
run away. The door was opened by Lily 
Benedict, her guardian’s daughter, a girl of 
about twenty. 

“ Oh, Mercy, is that you ? How de do ? ” 
said Miss Lily, and gave her a little dab on 
the cheek, which was supposed to be a kiss. 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. I IQ 

Mercy walked in, and met Mrs. Benedict at 
the drawing-room door. From her she re- 
ceived another dab, and the remark : 

“ How tanned you are, Mercy.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Mercy, demurely, “I 
shall have to be enamelled the first thing.” 

Lily gave a short laugh, and said : 

“ How odd you are, Mercy ! But if I were 
you I believe I would be enamelled ! ” 

“ Is Uncle Benedict at home ? ” asked Mercy. 

Mr. Benedict was a distant cousin, and she 
had been taught to call him uncle. 

“Yes, he’s in the library,” answered Lily. 

Mercy set down her little hand-bag in the 
hall and went toward the library. Much as 
she dreaded delivering the letter, she could 
not rest until she had done it. 

Mr. Benedict looked surprised when, in 
answer to his “ Come in,” there entered — his 
ward. 

He put down his book, rose, and shook 
hands with her. He was a pale, thin man, 
much given to reading. 

“ I have a letter for you, sir,” said Mercy, 
now very pale herself. She handed the envel- 


120 


CHUMS. 


ope, and added, in an uncertain voice : “ The 
sooner you know it, the better. I am expelled 
from the school.” 

She sat down quickly, not feeling quite able 
to stand. 

Mr. Benedict read the letter, frowning 
deeply. He was trying to forget the book he 
had been reading, and to put his mind on this 
matter. His first thought was the trouble he 
should have in hunting up another school; 
his second was that he would make his wife do 
it. But it was proper to be displeased, of 
course. 

“ This is very bad, very bad,” he said, look- 
ing up at the girl. “ I am surprised. Lily 
never was expelled. It’s really a disgrace. Go 
and tell your aunt about it.” 

Mercy rose. 

“ If you please,” she said, “ I wish you would 
tell her. I don’t think I could tell any more 
people.” 

“ Very well, then.” 

Mercy knew she was to leave the room now, 
and she hurried up to her own chamber, and 
Mr. Benedict would probably have forgotten 


DELIVERING THE LETTER. 


I2I 


the news, had he not seen the open letter on 
his table when he rose to go down to supper. 

He took the epistle and gave it to his wife, 
who had no book to distract her attention from 
it, and who talked all through supper-time 
upon the subject, asking Mercy innumerable 
questions, wondering at her wickedness, until 
she felt nearly wild with it all. She said there 
was some mistake ; she was not guilty, but 
things were against her; to which Lily said 
that of course Madame Delmont knew what 
she was doing. 

On the third day from that came a letter 
from Delight enclosing a note of invitation 
from her mother to Mercy, asking the girl to 
spend the vacation with Delight. 

“ It is out of the question,” said Mrs. Bene- 
dict, decidedly. “ She has been expelled from 
the school, and she must not be sent off to 
have a good time, after such misbehaviour.” 

So Mrs. Benedict wrote a dignified note to 
Mrs. Chantry, and Mercy wrote a despairing 
one to Delight, and they were sent off by the 
next mail. 


CHAPTER XL 


A SURPRISE. 

T T was four days after having received that 
^ sorrowful letter from Mercy that Delight 
was starting away from the store at the village 
which was two miles from her home. She had 
come down to the post-office, and to do a few 
errands, and she was mounted on her father’s 
old horse, “ Bayside.” 

She heard the sound of wheels approaching 
from behind her, but she was looking over 
the letters and papers she had received at the 
office, and wishing there had been something 
from Mercy, when the wheels stopped and a 
voice called her name. 

She turned around so quickly as almost to 
fall from her horse. 

The “depot wagon,” which came up regu- 
larly to the village from the station five miles 
away, had been stopped just after it reached 


122 


A SURPRISE. 123 

the store where it had delivered the mail, and 
so Delight had missed seeing it. 

The voice which had called had said : 

“Delight! Delight Chantry! Wait for 
me ! ” 

The speaker was Mercy Anthony, who had 
been brought up from the station, and had 
expected to be taken two miles farther on, to 
Mr. Chantry’s house. 

“ Don’t get out ! ” cried Delight, as soon as 
her surprise would allow her to speak. “ They’ll 
take you home, and you see I can’t have you 
go with me.” 

Mercy, however, had begun to emerge. The 
sides of the vehicle were rolled up, but there 
rose a wooden panel about twelve inches 
from the body of the carriage, which one who 
essayed to escape that way must step over, 
and then grope blindly with the foot for some 
resting-place for that member, hanging on, 
meanwhile, somehow on the inside. If the 
driver would get out, one might climb over 
the front seat, but there was a constitutional 
indisposition on the part of the driver to leave 
his perch, and he had not left it now. 


124 


CHUMS. 


Mercy was in that stage of escape when one 
foot was out and groping. 

“ Don’t tell me not to get out ! ” exclaimed 
Mercy. “You must see I can’t! Do you 
know whether this is a Black Maria which 
I’m in.?” 

“ What do ye want ter git out for ? ” asked 
the driver, looking calmly over his shoulder at 
her. 

Mercy did not think of attempting to reply. 
She had deposited her satchel on the floor of 
the carriage that she might have the entire use 
of both hands ; and now her youth and agility 
stood her in good stead. She crept out of the 
opening which should have been a door but 
was not, she stood with both feet planted on 
the wheel, then she jumped to the ground. 

She turned her flushed face toward the now 
admiring driver. 

“ Please take my trunk and bag on to Mr. 
Chantry’s.” 

Then she turned to Delight, whose face was 
bright with pleasure, though she said, again : 

“ But you should have gone on with Mr. 
Loomis. What’s going to become of you 


A SURPRISE. 125 

now? Oh, but isn’t it just splendid that 
you’ve come ? ” 

Delight had hung her bridle on the pommel, 
and was just going to slip to the ground, when 
Mercy stopped her by saying : 

“ What are you doing ? Don’t get off ! I’m 
going to mount up there behind you. After 
being able to get out of that cart, I know I 
can do anything. Come up to a fence some- 
where, and I’ll climb on.” 

“ But do you know how to ride ? ” questioned 
Delight. 

“ Not an atom. But I know how to put my 
arms around you, and pull you off if I feel 
myself going.” 

Mercy was in the highest of spirits, and 
it was not many minutes before she had 
infected her companion with her gaiety. 
Delight’s surprise and joy at seeing her 
friend were enough to make her gay. But 
there was always a peculiarly infectious quality 
about Mercy’s good spirits, and now she was 
hilarious. 

Delight guided Bayside to the most con- 
venient rail fence, and Mercy clambered from 


126 


CHUMS. 


it on his back, sitting in the old-fashioned way, 
her arms about her friend. 

“ I must have this steed walk every step 
of the way home,” remarked Delight, as he 
stepped deliberately forth, “for his trot is 
about as easy as an elephant’s gait. But I’m 
used to the pounding he gives one.” 

“And I mean to become used to it,” de- 
clared Mercy. “ Now this is glorious ! This 
is life ! ” 

“ Bayside and I have had remarkably good 
times,” responded Delight, “ and now,” turning 
around as far as possible, “ tell me what this 
means. I no sooner have a letter saying you 
are to be kept home as punishment for being 
expelled, than here you are ! Is it a joke ? I 
should think so, only that a note from Mrs. 
Benedict makes that impossible. You’ve come 
to stay, haven’t you.^ You are not going to 
fly off.?” 

“Oh, yes. I’ve come to stay. You’ll get 
tired enough of me. I’m going to stick like 
a burr. Go on, old Bayside, let’s have a 
canter ! ” and the girl drummed her heels 
against the horse’s side, though the animal 


A SURPRISE. 127 

minded it not in the least, still keeping to 
his deliberate walk. 

“ Perhaps you wear spurs, Delight,” she 
went on ; “ if you do, please put a few inches 
of them into this charger.” 

“ No, indeed ; I’m not going to have us both 
bounced off into the dust ; I .think of that fine 
new frock of yours. It’s too fine to travel in.” 

“ I know it ; but I would wear it. Some- 
times I do insist upon spending a little of my 
own money.” 

“You have a great deal, haven’t you?” 
asked Delight, who had not a penny, and 
hardly expected ever to have one. 

“Yes, I’m rather rich,” was the complacent 
reply. 

“ How rich ? ” 

“ I’m going to have eighty thousand dollars 
when I’m twenty-one.” 

“ Mercy ! ” 

“ Is that an exclamation, or are you speaking 
to me ? ” 

“ I am just lost in admiration of myself that 
I have a girl, who is worth all that money, on 
the horse behind me.” 


128 


CHUMS. 


“Yes; you’d better make much of me, I can 
tell you, or when I come into my property I’ll 
cut you ! ” 

“Yes, that I will. I’ll toady to you with all 
my might. I’ll just be your slave.” 

“ That’s right. But I sha’n’t have my wealth 
for years, and at present I’m only allowed a 
little mean, stingy pocket money.” 

“ I hope your guardian is honest,” Delight 
said, gravely. 

“Yes, I think he’s disagreeable enough to 
be honest ; but he can’t harm me, for my for- 
tune is tied up safely ; I remember my mother 
said that. Gracious ! ” with a sudden change 
of mood, "'‘cant this horse move out of a 
walk?” drumming her heels again. 

“Yes; by perseverance I can make him trot, 
but I’m not going to try it,” replied Delight, 
decisively. “/ know what his trot is, and I 
know you’d pull me off in your struggle to 
keep on. Now tell me how it happened that 
you were allowed to come.” 

“That’s easy enough to understand,” said 
Mercy. “ When Aunt Benedict wrote to de- 
cline, they expected to stay at home through 


A SURPRISE. 


129 


the summer. Three days later they suddenly 
decided to go to Newport. They didn’t want 
me with them, and they couldn’t put me on 
board wages as they do their servants. They 
found it convenient to change their minds 
about me. I was told that, on the whole, they 
thought it best to allow me to make the pro- 
posed visit to my friend. You may believe 
my heart jumped at that. There was no time 
to send a letter, and I remembered you said it 
took from three to four days for a telegram to 
be brought from the car station. I suppose 
that driver delivers it ? ” 

“Yes, he does if he thinks of it; but if he 
hasn’t any errand up our way, he waits until 
he happens to see one of us at the village.” 

“Yes, I should think he would. Well, I 
didn’t send a telegram, and here I am. How 
many miles an hour can this horse walk ? ” 

“ Three ; and as it is only two miles from the 
village to my home, we shall get there in less 
than an hour.” 

“ I am fearfully, enormously hungry ! ” was 
the next remark, accompanied by a violent 
squeeze around the waist she held. 


130 


CHUMS. 


Before Delight could make any response to 
these words, Mercy asked : 

“ Have you heard anything from the Insti- 
tute ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Was Julia Bowers very sick ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

The two girls were silent now for some time, 
and both were thinking of the events which 
occurred just before the vacation began, and 
that was not quite a week ago, although in 
some ways it seemed so long. 

Soon they reached the top of a long hill 
from which could be seen an old farmhouse 
with barns and sheds. A pasture lay back of 
the buildings, and a lane led to it. In the lane 
were several cows and sheep ; behind them, and 
a great ways behind, sauntered a boy of eleven 
or twelve. He had on brown “ overalls,” up- 
held by one strap that passed from his left side 
in the back to his right side in the front, thus 
making two straps seem an extravagance. 
He wore a blue and white checked gingham 
shirt, and an enormous straw hat, with its 
brim turned up sharply behind, and giving 


A SURPRISE. 


I3I 

that peculiar appearance to the wearer which 
that and that only will give, and which is 
rarely, if ever, seen anywhere but in the 
country. This was his entire costume, for he 
had on no shoes. 

When he saw Bayside and his burden out- 
lined against the sky on the top of the hill, he 
incontinently set the cows into a gallop, that 
he himself might get home the quicker, and he 
was standing by the roadside in front of the 
house when Delight and her visitor rode in at 
the gate. He stood calmly with his hands 
deep in his pockets, maintaining his position 
within about six inches of where the horse 
would naturally walk, and looking up all the 
while with a gaze that completely ignored 
his sister, and dwelt exclusively upon the 
stranger. 

It was a shrewd face thus upturned, ex- 
tremely freckled, with well-opened blue eyes, 
a wide mouth, and rather turned-up nose. 
Withal it bore a curious resemblance to 
Delight. 

“ Who’s that ? ” whispered Mercy in Delight’s 
right ear. Instead of replying, the girl said : 


132 


CHUMS. 


“ Why don’t you take off your hat, Hearts- 
ease ? ” 

“ Why.^^” turning and walking by the horse, 
and still continuing to look at the newcomer. 

“ Because here’s a young lady, to say nothing 
of your sister,” was the response. 

The boy did not answer at all to this; he 
thrust his hands still farther into his pockets, 
kicked a pebble, hitting it accurately with his 
right large toe. 

In a moment more Bayside had been guided 
to a horse-block which stood near the back 
porch of the house, and the boy who had been 
called Heartsease withdrew his hands with a 
great show of alacrity from his pockets, and 
sprang to Bayside’s bridle, which he held with 
a firm clasp. 

“ Be sure the horse is kept from running 
away, or I never shall dare to get down ! ” cried 
Mercy, in a shrill voice, gradually slipping 
off, until her feet rested on the block. 

The boy grinned. 

“ I’ll give anybody ten thousand dollars who 
will make him run away ! ” he said, emphatically. 

Having touched the block, Mercy leaped to 


A SURPRISE. 


133 


the ground with an agility that was approved 
by Heartsease, and also apparently unexpected 
by him. 

Delight immediately followed her friend, and 
Heartsease turned the horse with his head 
toward the barn, put his hands instantly 
back in his pockets, and uttered a series of loud 
and explosive “ clucks ” directed at the horse, 
which leisurely strode on to the stable. 

“ Miss Anthony, this is my brother, Henry 
Hazelton Chantry,” said Delight, when she had 
gathered up the long skirt which she magnif- 
icently called her “ habit.” 

Mercy executed a curtsey which would 
have been appropriate to the Scottish queen, 
and the boy, obedient to a nudge from his 
sister, pulled off his hat, and, blushing deeply, 
bowed even lower than the girl had done. 

Raising himself upright, he turned to De- 
light, and said, briefly : 

“ Nobody at home, and nothing to eat.” 

“ Oh,” cried Mercy, despairingly, “ and I am 
starving ! ” 

“ Sorry for you ; but I believe there is a pail 
of chicken dough in the hen-house,” he said. 


134 


CHUMS. 


“ Stop your nonsense ! ” said Delight, author- 
itatively. “ Where’s mother ? ” 

“ They came for her a few minutes after you 
went,” replied the boy, “ to take her over to the 
Blake place, where they are sick, and poor as 
poverty all the time, you know. They wanted 
her to bring what she had cooked in the 
house, and she took all the bread and dough- 
nuts, and the rest of the chicken. Mother said 
she’d be home before this, and we’d have 
griddle-cakes for supper. But they’ll keep her 
to take care of the baby if they can.” 

Delight was really vexed. 

“ There was almost a whole pie left over 
from dinner,” she said ; “ where is it ? ” 

“ I was faint, and I ate that,” said Henry 
Hazelton. 

Mercy began to laugh. 

“ Don’t laugh !” exclaimed Delight. “You 
are to have nothing but crackers and cheese, 
as far as I can see. And when father and the 
men come home from the East Meadow they’ll 
be hungry, too.” 

The three stood on the porch. The boy 
was looking intently at his dusty toes, and was 


A SURPRISE. 


135 


evidently trying to come to a decision. He 
raised his eyes just as his sister had turned to 
enter the house. 

“ Hold on a minute, ’Light ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ I went down to Archer’s Pond this afternoon, 
and caught ten pickerel. I meant to roast 
’em in my hut to-morrow, but let’s fry ’em 
now ! And you make some sort of a cake on 
top of the stove. I’m kind of hungry myself.” 

“ What a noble boy you are ! ” cried Mercy, 
looking at him with dancing eyes, while he 
smiled approval of her sentiment. “You go 
and skin or bone or split the fish, while I help 
Delight make the cake.” 

“ Much you know about it, with that gown 
on ! ” He turned away, adding to himself, “ And 
I guess I will skin or bone or split the fish ! 
She’s a regular one, she is ; and I’ll bet she’s 
about the right kind of a girl.” 

Mercy was presented with an enormous 
apron by Delight, who had soon slipped off 
her riding-skirt. 

“You’ll have to wear your red flannel boat- 
ing-dress most of the time here,” said Delight. 
“ I hope it’s in your trunk.” 


136 


CHUMS. 


“Yes; I remembered you said there was a 
pond here. I suppose the man will bring the 
trunk ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; in time.” 

“ That’s a comfort. If it doesn’t ever come, 
you can lend me somebody’s petticoat and 
short gown.” 

Delight was mixing flour and milk and 
baking-powder for her cake, and Mercy was 
savagely slicing large pieces from a thick 
chunk of salt fat pork, for the fish frying. 

“ Why do you call your brother Hearts- 
ease ? ” she asked. 

“ Because he has always been such a tor- 
ment. From the time he was a little tot two 
or three years old, he was continually getting 
into scrapes, and frightening mother for fear 
he would break his neck or some other part of 
his frame. And as he grew older it was just 
as bad. One day father came and found 
mother was just pulling Henry by the heels 
from the hogshead of rain-water, which stands 
out there at the corner of the house. He had 
climbed up on a stool, with the cat in his 
arms, to baptise her, as he said. He was five 


A SURPRISE. 


137 


years old then, and if mother hadn’t seen 
him at just that minute he never would have 
been any older in this world. Father and 
mother worked over him, and put on dry 
clothes, and talked as plainly as they could, 
but I suppose they were too grateful that he 
wasn’t drowned to be very severe. Mother said 
that night that he was such an anxiety that 
she never had an hour’s peace, and father 
laughed and said he was a ‘ regular heartsease,’ 
and the name was so ridiculous we’ve called 
him so. I say now,” suddenly looking at 
Mercy, “ please dont cut any more pork, unless 
you particularly want it yourself. There’s 
enough to fry a small barrel of fish.” 

A voice at the open door called attention to 
Heartsease, who stood with his fish on a tin 
plate ready for cooking. 

“ When I cut the pork,” remarked Mercy, 
“ I was thinking of you, Henry Hazelton, and 
how faint you were.” 

“ Well, I am hungry,” he said, taking up a 
fork with which he began to spear the fish 
into the frying-pan. 

Mercy prattled on gaily, as she rolled the 


138 


CHUMS. 


fish in Indian meal. Were there not yet weeks 
of vacation to be spent with Delight ? 

“Take me to the pond,” she said, “and I’ll 
catch larger fish than any of these.” 

“ You catch fish ! ” the boy replied, con- 
temptuously. “ I should like to see you do it ! 
You couldn’t put your bait on, and if you did 
pull in a fish I s’pose you’d screech when you 
saw it wriggling on the hook ! ” 

Mercy turned upon him. 

“Young man,” she cried, “what kind of 
girls do you know.?^ You must have chosen 
your society in a very poor way.” 

The boy nodded his head toward his sister. 

“She’s about all I know, and she’s enough 
to keep a whole pond full of fish from biting.” 

Delight, who was spatting her cake down on 
the “ spider ” with the palm of her hand, said, 
without looking around : 

“ Stop talking, Heartsease.” 

“ Oh, let him go on,” interposed Mercy, with 
an oblique glance at the boy, “ nobody minds 
what he says.” 

Heartsease turned, and with ostentatious 
deliberateness walked out-of-doors. 


A SURPRISE. 


139 


“ I hope we haven’t hurt his feelings,” said 
Mercy, as she carefully put the fish in the hot 
fat, and then sprang back, as a scalding drop 
jumped up in her face. 

“ His feelings ! ” repeated Delight. “ He is a 
regular rhinoceros, he is.” 

“ Still,” remarked Mercy, dabbing her burned 
cheek with her pocket-handkerchief, “I’ve heard 
somewhere that boys had feelings, ‘hidden 
beneath a proud and rough exterior.’ IVe 
certainly seen that in print.” 

“ It’s a mistake, then,” replied Delight. 
“ They have two feelings : one is to be hungry, 
and the other is to be sleepy; but there’s a 
third, — to be lazy. Miss Anthony, will you 
turn the fish ? ” 

Miss Anthony did as she was requested, 
while Delight put the tea to steep, and hur- 
riedly began to lay the cloth on the table which 
stood at the farther end of the long kitchen. 

“ You will see,” she said, while Mercy stood 
guard over the frying fish, “ you will see that 
my brother is not so hurt but he will return to 
his supper. If he did not, I should certainly 
be alarmed about him.” 


140 


CHUMS. 


The preparations for supper went on with 
celerity, and, under Delight’s instructions, fish 
and cake came on to the table a proper brown. 
As she was pouring out the tea her brother 
entered bearing a pail. 

“ Thought we should need some fresh water,” 
he said. 

“We were so afraid you might forget it was 
supper-time,” said Delight, with great sarcasm. 

“You needn’t ever be anxious on that ac- 
count about me,” replied Heartsease, drawing 
up his chair. 

The devouring of the supper went on gaily. 
Mercy declared she had never been so happy 
in her life. They arranged to go boating and 
berrying ; there was even talk of climbing up 
Bald Hill, although Henry Hazel ton declared 
positively that no girl could climb that hill, it 
was so steep and rocky. 

“ Can you climb it ? ” asked Mercy. 

“ Of course.” 

“ Then I can, and I will,” was the response. 

Heartsease looked down sneeringly at her 
dress, much furbelowed as to the skirt. 

“You surely can’t do it in that gown !” he 


A SURPRISE. 


I4I 

said, and then he laughed, and added, “ I should 
like to see you trying it with that thing on ! ” 

“ But you won’t, though ! I’m not such an 
idiot as that, if I am a girl ! ” said Mercy. 
“ You just wait until my trunk comes ! ” 

“ Is old Loomis going to bring it ? ” asked 
Heartsease. 

“ Mr. Loomis is to bring it,” reprovingly 
said his sister. 

“ Then I guess I shall have to wait,” said 
the boy. 

But even as he spoke there was the sound 
of wheels in the yard, together with a vocifer- 
ous “ Whoa ! ” 

“ There he is now ! ” cried Heartsease, and 
he ran out on the porch. 

“Ain’t there no man round here ?” asked Mr. 
Loomis. 

“ No one but me,” answered the boy, who 
had his hands already in his pockets. 

“ Then there ain’t much show,” was the 
response. “ I s’pose you ain’t big enough to 
stiddy this trunk, be ye ? ” 

This remark called the hands of Heartsease 
out of his pockets, as it was meant to do. 


142 


CHUMS. 


The trunk was lifted and “ stiddied ” on to 
the piazza, the hand-bag deposited by it, and 
then Mr. Loomis drove away. 

The two girls and the boy managed to get 
the trunk up the stairs to the room which was 
to be Mercy’s, and by that time it was sunset, 
and Mercy heard again the sound of wheels, 
and, looking out of the window, she saw that 
an open wagon was directly beneath her, and 
that a tall woman, whose face was hidden by a 
deep sunbonnet, was alighting. 

“ That must be Delight’s mother,” thought 
Mercy, and in a moment she heard her friend 
calling her from the foot of the stairs. Mercy, 
having smoothed her hair, hurried down, and 
was presented to Mrs. Chantry, who took both 
her hands in a warm clasp, and bade her wel- 
come so heartily that the girl could have wept 
from sheer thankfulness. 

Mrs. Chantry, in spite of her unfashionable 
dress, had a manner that was at once so polite 
and so sincere that Mercy thought she had 
never seen a fine city lady who was so much 
of a gentlewoman. 


CHAPTER XII. 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 



HE next day the two girls with their own 


hands harnessed Bayside into an open 
wagon, and drove down to the post-office. 

Heartsease, idling about the barnyard, felt a 
sudden inclination to go with them, and he ran 
and jumped up behind, and sat with his feet 
swinging out, trying to hear what they said, 
and quite sure neither of them had heard him 
get into the wagon. 

Very soon Mercy, in a voice to be heard 
above the rumbling of the wheels, remarked : 

“ What a bright boy your brother is, De- 
light!” 

“ Do you think so ? ” 

“ Of course. I only wish I had such a 
brother,” and the speaker sighed heavily. 

Her companion did not reply, and Mercy 
went on : 


143 


144 


CHUMS. 


“ I’ve been waiting ever since I came for 
him to invite me to go to Archer’s Pond with 
him. I cannot die happy until I have been to 
Archer’s Pond, and there is no one in this 
world with whom I wish to go as I wish to go 
with Henry Hazelton Chantry.” 

“ If I felt like that I should certainly ask 
him,” said Delight, in a voice much hoarser 
than usual. 

Mercy sighed more violently than before, 
and replied: 

“ Oh, no, I can’t do that. It would not be 
ladylike.” 

“ I don’t know what is to be done, then,” said 
Delight, “ for my brother is so constituted that 
if I ask him to do anything, even if it be some- 
thing he likes, he instantly feels as if he didn’t 
want to do it.” 

“ That is on account of his noble disposi- 
tion,” said Mercy. “You don’t ask him to do 
great things suitable to a boy like him.” 

Here there was a sound from the rear of the 
wagon as of a laugh suddenly choked back, 
which produced a gurgling noise. But the 
girls stared persistently forward. 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 


145 


Soon Mercy said, mournfully : 

“ I always knew there was a lack in my life, 
but until I came here I didn’t realise it was 
owing to the fact that I had no brother like 
yours. Delight.” 

Here there was an unmistakable explosion 
from the back of the wagon. 

Both girls looked around with great surprise 
pictured on their faces. 

“ You there ! ” cried Delight. 

“ You there ! ” cried Mercy. 

“Oh, Guy! Yes, I’m here,” replied the boy, 
and then he shouted with laughter, drew in his 
legs, and tossed them in the air in the exuber- 
ance of his delight. 

“ I hope you’re not having a convulsion,” 
said Delight. 

“ Yes, I am, too. How powerful lucky that 
you didn’t know I was here! I don’t believe 
that saying about listeners not hearing any 
good of themselves,” and he looked sharply at 
Mercy, who now began to laugh as uproar- 
iously as the boy had done. As soon as com- 
parative quiet had been restored. Heartsease 
said : 


146 


CHUMS. 


“ If it’s a cloudy day for fish to-morrow, let’s 
all go to Archer’s.” 

“ Oh, thank you ! ” cried Mercy, effusively. 

“ And let’s take lunch, and if we catch any 
fish let’s cook ’em by a fire on the shore.” 

Mercy clapped her hands. 

“ If I only had a brother ! ” she cried. 

“You’d want him just like ’Light’s brother, 
wouldn’t you ? ” questioned the boy. 

“ Exactly. I wouldn’t have a freckle changed.” 

“ I knew it. And if I had another sister — ” 

Mercy reached over and put her hand on 
Henry’s mouth. 

“ I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said, 
calmly, when he could speak. 

When they reached the post-office Hearts- 
ease jumped down and went into the office, 
returning with the announcement that the 
mail by mistake had been carried to Ryan, 
and the Ryan mail had been left there. 

The change would not be made before 
nine o’clock in the evening. So they turned 
homeward. Heartsease insisting upon sitting 
on the seat between the two girls, and 
driving. 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 


147 


“ ’Light doesn’t know how to drive this 
horse,” he said. “I’ll just show you what 
Bayside is made of. He used to be a trotter, 
and win, too.” 

“ But that was twenty years ago,” said De- 
light. “ Don’t you get him to going ! The 
harness won’t stand it ; it’ll break ! ” 

“ How silly you are ! ” responded the brother. 
“ The harness is good enough.” 

“ Can he really go ? ” asked Mercy, secretly 
wishing Heartsease would persist. 

“ Go ? Yes, he can. Now you be still, ’Light. 
I can manage him.” 

The boy took out the whip, gathered up the 
lines, and continued to whip and cluck and 
shake the reins for some minutes. At last the 
old horse began to arouse himself, but it is 
probable he would have subsided again, if 
another horse in a light buggy had not just 
then come up behind. Now Bayside was 
thoroughly wakened. He settled down toward 
the ground, and began to take long, rapid 
strides that left his rival instantly in the 
rear. 

It was in vain that the man behind whipped 


CHUMS. 


148 

up his steed. Mercy looked around. She 
began to feel the exhilaration which all 
know who have ridden behind a fast horse. 
It is a very different sensation from that 
which comes from going fast by means of 
steam. 

“ He’s gaining, Heartsease ! Look out, he’ll 
catch up ! ” cried she, turning around again, 
and seeing that the horse in the rear was 
making better time. 

“ No, he can’t catch up,” replied the boy. 
“ I know who it is ; it’s Deacon Cobb, and he 
ought to know his colt is no match for Bayside. 
Go on, old feller ! ” 

But Bayside needed no urging now. Memo- 
ries of his younger days came back to him as 
his old limbs grew less and less stiff. 

Mercy clapped her hands. Her hat flew off 
and hung on the back of her head. 

“ This is glorious ! This is fun ! ” she ex- 
claimed. 

Delight was getting excited, also, but her 
knowledge and caution were greater than her 
friend’s. 

“ It won’t be so glorious if the harness 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 


149 


breaks somewhere,” she said. “ Henry, please 
stop the horse before we begin to go down 
Ridge Hill.” 

“ All right.” 

“ But you probably can’t do it,” added De- 
light, knowing that such a suggestion would 
rouse her brother into trying to prove that he 
could. 

“ Can’t I ? ” he asked, “ you just see.” 

The old horse was under great headway 
now, and was clearing the ground in a wonder- 
ful way. But, though thoroughly aroused, 
Bayside was too old to keep up speed long. 
He began to slacken of his own accord, when 
the other horse was so far behind that he 
could not be heard. And now the top of 
Ridge Hill was reached. 

“You’d better let me drive,” Delight could 
not refrain saying. It was a very unfortunate 
remark. 

“ I guess not,” said Heartsease, in a dis- 
agreeable tone. “ I guess I can drive as well 
as any girl can ! ” and he slapped the lines 
violently, to prove that he could do as he 
said. 


CHUMS. 


150 

The awakened animal, resenting this indig- 
nity, tossed its head and started down the 
hill at a rate which, for such a road, was really 
frightful.' 

“ Now you have done it ! ” said Delight, 
feeling as she spoke as if she would like to 
fling the boy out. But the next moment every 
feeling was absorbed in the breathless way in 
which they seemed to be going through the 
air. The front wheels were most of the time 
literally off the ground. 

Heartsease braced his feet against the front 
of the wagon ; the two girls grasped the sides 
of the seat. At every breath they drew they 
had a sensation as if they could not keep in 
the carriage another moment. All three faces 
were white, their eyes set and glaring. 

It mattered not now in the least who held 
the reins, or whether any one held them. 

Half-way down there was a break in the 
descent of the hill, where, for a few rods, was a 
comparatively level space. 

Here the old horse began to flag, then 
stumbled and fell forward on its knees, and all 
three on the seat pitched forward out of the 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 1 5 I 

wagon, Mercy rolling directly onto the horse 
and rebounding into the dust of the road. 

She did not know in the least where the 
others were, but she thought she heard a 
sharp cry as she was rolling from the horse. 

Her mouth and eyes were full of dust. 
Although it really was but an instant of time, 
it seemed to her several moments before she 
scrambled to her feet and found that she had 
the use of all her limbs. Turning to discover 
the fate of her companions, she saw Delight 
getting on her feet on the other side of the 
road, and Bayside rising also, after two in- 
effectual attempts, though he made no move- 
ment to go on. 

“ Where is Henry ? ” was Delight’s question, 
after the two girls had glanced at each other. 

“ I don’t know.” 

Here a moan from under the front part of 
the carriage was heard, and then both girls 
saw a dusty heap lying there. 

Delight and Mercy immediately went down 
on their knees beside it. 

“ Can’t you get up ? ” they asked. 

Another moan was the answer. Mercy rose 


152 


CHUMS. 


and took Bayside’s bridle, leading him forward 
a few steps, thus leaving Heartsease free to be 
assisted to his feet, unimpeded by the wheels. 

“ Something’s broke in me,” said the boy. 

“ Can’t you tell whether it’s your back, or 
your arm, or your leg ? ” asked Delight, who 
felt hysterically inclined, as she found that no 
one had been killed outright. 

“ I think it’s all three,” was the answer. 
“ I’m going to try to get up and see,” and he 
managed to stand up. It was very soon dis- 
covered that his left arm was broken about 
half-way between the wrist and elbow. 

In another moment Mercy had torn the 
long, streaming gauze veil from her hat, and 
knotted it about the boy’s neck, making a rest 
for his arm. 

He was assisted into the wagon, and the 
three drove homeward, now at a very slow 
pace. 

“ Father will take the colt and go after the 
doctor,” said Delight, “ and we should be 
thankful we are not, all three of us, a mass of 
broken bones.” 

Heartsease groaned. 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 1 53 

“We can’t go to Archer’s Pond to-morrow,” 
he said. 

“ But we can go very soon,” cheerfully ob- 
served Mercy, “ and I can take you out ; I can 
manage a boat quite well.” 

“ You manage a boat ! ” with lofty, masculine 
scorn. 

“ I guess your arm isn’t very bad,” sagely 
remarked his sister, and he replied by an 
exaggerated groan. 

On reaching home, they found that a man 
from Ryan had been there half an hour before, 
and left a telegram directed to Miss Mercy 
Anthony, care of Mr. Chantry. It was from 
Madame Delmont, who had been informed by a 
note from Delight that her friend was with her. 

The message read as follows : 

“ Miss Bowers very ill ; she wishes to see 
Mercy Anthony.” 

While Mr. Chantry was harnessing the colt 
to go for the doctor to set his son’s arm, the 
two girls read this telegram. 

“ I suppose I must go,” said Mercy, looking 
at Mrs. Chantry, who had put Heartsease on 
the lounge. 


154 


CHUMS. 


Mercy was very much startled, not to say a 
little frightened, by this sudden summons. She 
begged permission from Mrs. Chantry for 
Delight to go with her to the Institute. 

The large school building had a desolate 
air with its rows of closed blinds and its de- 
serted piazzas. 

The two friends were shown into Madame’s 
parlour. Everything was strange and still. 
How long ago the exhibition seemed ! 

Madame Delmont entered, looking pale and 
worn. 

“You will go down to the dining-room, and 
have your dinner,” she said, after she had 
greeted the girls. “ J ulia is asleep now. I will 
let you know when she wakens.” 

It was in the middle of the afternoon before 
Mercy was summoned. 

Her heart beat painfully as she followed 
Madame into Julia’s room, and she felt a chok- 
ing sensation, as she saw how altered was the 
face lying on the pillow. 

As she noticed those pinched and suffering 
features, Mercy’s generous heart immediately 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 


155 


forgave the girl for what she had done. 
An expression of thankfulness came to Julia’s 
countenance as she saw Mercy. 

“ Do you wish to see her alone ? ” asked 
Julia’s mother, who sat by her bed. 

“No; you and Madame stay,” was the 
answer, in the weakest of voices. 

Mercy came and bent over the bed, and 
J ulia said, eagerly, but with piteous weakness : 

“ I couldn’t get well, and I couldn’t die until 
I had told you that it was I who fixed you up 
so ridiculously when you were Queen Mary. 
I was sure you didn’t know what I was doing. 
I had a spite against you. There, now, it is 
out. You needn’t be expelled. Madame, you 
hear ? ” 

The effort to speak had dreadfully exhausted 
the girl. She closed her eyes, and Madame 
gently put Mercy out of the room, while Mrs. 
Bowers hastened to give her daughter a few 
drops of stimulating medicine. 

Mercy sought Delight, who waited for her in 
the hall, and as soon as she saw the grave and 
anxious face of her friend she lost the control 
she had held over herself by Julia’s bedside. 


CHUMS. 


156 

She threw her arms around Delight’s neck, 
and sobbed. 

“ She said she did it ! — and she’s going to 
die, surely ! ” 

Delight, much moved herself, yet managed 
to be calm enough to soothe Mercy, who 
trembled and cried to her heart’s content. She 
led her down the hall, far away from Julia’s 
room. 

“ She’s going to die ! ” repeated Mercy, at 
last raising her tear-stained face, and then 
immediately covering it with her handkerchief. 

“ You needn’t be so sure of that,” said De- 
light. “ Madame told me that, although she 
was extremely ill, she was so young and strong 
that she had hopes of her rallying when the 
fever left her.” 

“ But she looks so ! ” moaned Mercy. 

After a silence, during which the girls walked 
out to the piazza, Delight asked : 

“ Did Madame hear what she said? ” 

“Yes; Julia wanted her to hear. After all, 
Julia isn’t so bad as we thought.” 

Delight did not reply. She had better 
judgment than Mercy, and was less governed 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 


157 


by her feelings. She was thinking that, but 
for this illness, Julia’s conscience might not 
have been awakened, and Mercy would then 
have continued in disgrace. 

That night Madame had a talk with the two 
girls, — a long talk which drew their young 
hearts still nearer to her. Just before they 
left her, she asked for the address of Mercy’s 
guardian, and said she should write to him on 
the next day, explaining what had occurred, 
and that Mercy was reinstated in her standing 
at the school. 

“ And on the first day of next term I shall 
inform the whole school,” she added. 

“And Julia will be disgraced?” murmured 
Mercy. 

“ I must think only of justice at such a time,” 
replied Madame, and she went on : 

“ If Julia lives, she will never come back 
here ; her mother has told me that.” 

“ Will she die ? ” asked Delight, seeing 
Mercy’s moved face. 

“ The doctor says there is still a chance, and 
my own opinion is that now she has con- 
fessed this, she will be more likely to recover.” 


CHUMS. 


158 

Mercy and Delight were to return by the 
ten o’clock train the next forenoon. As they 
stood on the piazza waiting for the carriage to 
come for them, Mercy pointed in an opposite 
direction, and asked : 

“ What is that ? Some team from Lilliput ? ” 

A pair of tiny South American ponies had 
just turned the corner toward the Institute. 
They were attached to a small phaeton, and 
they came on so rapidly that in a moment the 
occupant of the carriage could be seen more 
plainly. That he recognised them also was 
evident, for he took off his hat and swung it in 
the air. It was Sanxay Ranier, and, instead 
of being dressed in his grotesque white tunic, 
he had on an ordinary jacket, and his hair was 
no longer cut like a monk’s. The fact that he 
had of late mingled more with boys and girls 
of his own age accounted for the change in 
his appearance. As he came near, it was 
observable that his face wore a look of health. 

“This is good luck indeed!” he exclaimed, 
getting out of his little vehicle. “ My mother 
sent me over to inquire about Miss Bowers, 
and to bring this,” taking a basket of grapes 


BAYSIDE TROTS. 1 59 

from the carriage. “ I hope it’s not imperti- 
nent to ask how you came here ? ” 

In a few words Delight told him, for Mercy 
seemed loth to speak. 

“ I told you so,” was his comment. “ It will 
be good news for mother. Is that wagon 
coming for you ? ” 

It was the wagon to take them to the station, 
and their good-byes were hurriedly made. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


WHAT CAME OF FISHING. 

S had been expected, the broken arm 



“knit” rapidly. Heartsease was about, 
but moving circumspectly. 

It was hoped that the arm would heal before 
the boy broke his leg. Delight asserted that 
her brother’s capabilities in that line were 
large. 

The first promising cloudy day they started 
over the pasture to Archer’s Pond, where Mr. 
Chantry kept a boat. 

The two girls bore baskets filled with a most 
lavish lunch, for, as Delight had said, it would 
be impossible to carry too much food, as 
Heartsease was going. 

Once embarked, Mercy immediately took 
entire charge of the oars, and rose immensely 
in the estimation of Heartsease, who was 
amazed at her skill. Delight, it is true, had 


WHAT CAME OF FISHING. l6l 

been taught like Mercy, on the Holden River, 
but she had never cared for the exercise as her 
friend had done. 

“ I declare, I will own that I didn’t think 
you could do it ! ” exclaimed the boy, as the 
boat glided out from the shore. 

“ I am sure Mercy ought to be very proud,” 
said his sister, who was often irritated by 
Henry’s airs of superiority, while they simply 
amused Mercy. 

“You just row out there near where the 
birches grow,” directed Heartsease. “ I have 
lots of luck there, and I wish you two wouldn’t 
talk all the time, and scare the fish.” 

“ But I thought only trout objected to noise,” 
said Mercy. 

Heartsease condescended to explain that all 
fish were decidedly “down on noise” of any kind. 

They reached the spot he had indicated, and 
as soon as possible three poles were hanging 
over the water, and three hooks were dangling 
in it. 

Five minutes passed, and not a word had 
been spoken. Then Mercy exclaimed, in a 
whisper : 


i 62 


CHUMS. 


“ I shall die if I can’t talk ! I never had so 
many things that I wanted to say in my life ! ” 

“Hush — sh — sh!” said Henry. “Whis- 
pering is worse than anything ! ” 

“ All the fish in the pond are not worth our 
sitting like dunces in this way ! ” retorted 
Mercy, giving her pole a twitch, and splashing 
the water about. 

“ This is the result of coming out with 
girls ! ” said Heartsease, angrily. 

As he spoke. Delight swung her pole up, 
and lo! on the hook there dangled a large 
pickerel. 

“ This comes of being out with girls ! ” cried 
Mercy. 

“Take off the fish yourself!” said Hearts- 
ease, sulkily. “ I have only one hand, and if I 
had another I wouldn’t use it.” 

“ Of course I shall take him off myself,” re- 
plied Delight, carefully drawing the fish toward 
her, “ and you needn’t lose your temper, bub.” 

She took the cold and wet fish in her left 
hand, and endeavoured to extract the hook 
from its mouth. As the hook came out, the 
fish writhed, and the fingers unclasped in- 


WHAT CAME OF FISHING. 1 63 

stantly, whereupon the pickerel flopped over 
the side of the boat into the water. 

“ Oh, thunder ! ” cried the boy, unable to 
restrain himself. “You’ve taken him off with 
a vengeance! It’s too bad, I say.” 

“We sha’n’t get another one like that,” said 
Mercy, ruefully, swinging up her pole to see if 
there were anything on the hook, and suc- 
ceeded in giving it a twist that sent the hook 
into the skirt of her flannel dress, — sent it 
in securely, too, as only a fish-hook can go. 

“ I’ve caught a bigger fish than you,” she 
said, not much blaming Heartsease for his 
angry face. 

“ I vow I won’t come fishing again with a 
parcel of girls 1 ” he said, furiously. 

Nobody asked you, sir, she said,”’ remarked 
Delight, who was frequently in the habit of 
becoming exasperatingly calm when her brother 
was very much disturbed. 

“ Heartsease, have you a knife ? ” asked 
Mercy, in despair, after having worked for 
several moments in silence with her fish-hook. 

“ Yes, in my pocket here ; you take my 
pole, ’Light,” and the boy pulled out his knife, 


164 


CHUMS. 


and handed it to Mercy, who deliberately cut 
out a small piece of the flannel which con- 
tained the hook, and then pulled the shreds 
away from the barbed points. 

After this there was complete silence for a 
long time, during which the boy caught two 
pickerel of the very smallest size possible. 
Mercy took them off the hook, and, in obedi- 
dence to Heartsease, instantly flung them back 
into the pond again. 

“It was when we talked that that big pick- 
erel came to Delight’s hook,” said Mercy, at 
last ; “ let’s talk more.” 

Heartsease groaned. 

“ You may just bear your trouble as best 
you can,” said Mercy, rather sharply. “ You’ve 
got us out here, and you’ve got to endure it ! ” 

“ Got you out here ! ” repeated Heartsease, 
in a high key. “ Is that as near as a girl can 
tell the truth ? ” 

“ You just stop this talk,” interrupted De- 
light. “ I won’t have you two fighting. Henry 
Hazelton, can you tell me what is that I see 
over there at the end of the pond.? — on the 
shore near the tall poplar .? ” 


WHAT CAME OF FISHING. 1 65 

“ You don’t see anything,” was the gruff 
retort, and the boy would not turn his eyes in 
that direction. But Mercy looked and saw a 
small column of smoke ascending from near 
the water. She would have thought it was a 
fire for people who were camping out, but she 
saw no one near it. 

“ That’s the best part of the shore,” said 
Delight, continuing to gaze. “ It’s a lovely 
beach, smooth and white, and not half so 
many spiders and snakes as in other places. 
I meant that we should have our fire 
there.” 

“ What were you going to cook ? ” crossly 
asked Heartsease. 

“ Pickerel, of course.” 

“ First catch your fish,” sententiously ob- 
served Mercy. 

As she spoke the boy drew in his line, and a 
fair-sized fish swung from the end of it. The 
luck seemed now to have begun for all of 
them. In half an hour more they had caught 
fish enough to fry. They had not thought 
of looking again at the place where they had 
seen the smoke. 


CHUMS. 


1 66 

“ It is certainly time for us to have our 
dinner,” said Mercy, at last. 

She glanced toward the end of the pond, 
and cried : 

“ Look there ! ” 

The fire was no longer deserted. Bending 
near it was the figure of a woman ; or at least 
the three thought it was a woman, while on 
the sand, a few yards from her, were four or 
five other figures, stretched at full length ; 
whether they were men or women could not 
be told at this distance. 

Still farther away, and tethered among the 
scrub-oaks, were several horses. 

“ I’m afraid ! ” announced Mercy, instantly. 

Heartsease laughed with infinite scorn. He 
had not recovered his good temper, although 
the fish had bitten. 

“You’d better stay at home,” he said. 

“ I know what they are,” said Delight. 
“ They must be the Canadian gipsies. Tim 
Nolan was telling last night there was a camp 
of them over in East Ryan. They travelled 
in a big wagon, sold baskets, and traded horses, 
and stole, he said.” 


WHAT CAME OF FISHING. 1 67 

“ And told fortunes ? ” asked Mercy, with 
interest. 

“ I suppose so.” 

“ Then let’s go up there. I’ve always meant 
to have my fortune told by a gipsy.” 

Mercy began to wind her line about her 
pole, and the others were willing enough to 
follow her example. The chance of seeing a 
real gipsy was not to be passed by. 

V ery soon Mercy was rowing rapidly toward 
the end of the lake, and they could distinguish 
more plainly the figures near the fire. One of 
the men rose and came to the edge of the 
water, looking at the approaching boat. A 
woman, accompanied by two little girls, ap- 
peared from somewhere in the vicinity of the 
horses. The children came down to the water 
and waded in barefoot, staring meanwhile at 
the oncoming boat, which soon grated on the 
sand of the shore. 

It occurred to Delight that perhaps they 
ought to be timid about landing at an encamp- 
ment of gipsies, but she did not feel so. 

The woman who had last appeared on the 
scene advanced and took hold of the boat. 


CHUMS. 


1 68 

steadying it as the children alighted. She was 
so dark as to look almost like a mulatto, save 
that features and hair were very different. Her 
eyes were small and black as beads. Hands, face, 
and clothes were grimy to the utmost degree. 

“ Did you want baskets ? ” she asked. 

“ Do you tell fortunes ? ” inquired Mercy, 
while Heartsease snuffed at the contents of an 
iron kettle which, swung over the fire, emitted 
an odour of meat, cabbage, and onions, very 
attractive to the boy. 

“ I don’t tell, but Mother Moreau will do it,” 
was the answer. 

“ Is Mother Moreau here ? ” asked Mercy, 
who would not own to herself that the dirt was 
disgusting, still more the expression of low 
cunning on the faces near her. 

The man who had been sauntering near the 
water turned and went in the direction of the 
wagon, whose dingy sail-cloth top could be 
seen among the green leaves. 

“ He’s gone after her,” said the woman, 
nodding her head toward the departing man. 

The two girls stood waiting, and Delight 
said, in a whisper : 


WHAT CAME OF FISHING. 1 69 

“ What horrid things ! ” 

Mercy assented silently. Neither would 
acknowledge that she was sorry she had come. 
Both wanted to turn and immediately reenter 
the boat, but neither would do it. 

Soon there came from the neighbourhood 
of the wagon a tall woman, dressed in a red 
cotton gown, and wearing a scarlet handker- 
chief twisted about her head. Though her 
face was very wrinkled, and her black hair pro- 
fusely streaked with gray, she was perfectly 
erect, and there was a kind of dignity in her 
carriage which impressed the two girls. 

“ She is something like,” whispered Mercy. 
“ She ‘ can past and future see.’ ” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


heartsease’s temper. 

HE woman came directly to the girls. 



^ Heartsease was already talking familiarly 
with the men, who had not thought it worth 
while to rise from their prone positions. 

“You young ladies want your fortunes 
told ? ” she said, and there was a decided 
French accent in her tone. 

Mercy put her hand in her pocket. Until 
this moment she had not thought whether she 
had any money. Her look fell. 

“ Have you any money ? ” she asked, quickly 
turning to Delight. 


“ No.” 


“ I’m sorry,” said Mercy ; “ but we have no 
money with us. We can’t have our fortunes 
told to-day.” 

“ Never mind,” said Mother Moreau, smiling 
a little as she spoke. “ I ought to be willing 


heartsease’s temper. 


I7I 

to read your future, miss, for the sake of your 
black eyes. You might be a gipsy yourself. 
You have the look of one. It’s a free, grand 
life, with hardly ever a roof above your head 
all summer long.” 

“ If some of you will stop at Mr. Silas Chan- 
try’s,” said Delight, “ you shall have the 
money.” 

“ I will stop, for money is always welcome,” 
said the woman, “ but I would have read your 
future for you without the silver.” 

She took Mercy’s hand, but, instead of look- 
ing directly at it, she gazed a long time in the 
bright young face, and her own grew serious 
as she looked. 

It was in vain that Mercy called herself 
silly ; she could not prevent a chill feeling from 
creeping around her heart as she watched the 
dark old face before her, and she dreaded 
what was to be said. Was it really all a 
sham ? — or could some natures read charac- 
ters too mysterious to be comprehended by 
others ? 

“Clouds — heavy clouds,” in a low voice 
began the gipsy. 


172 


CHUMS. 


Mercy had grown pale, but she kept her 
eyes fixed on the woman. 

“ You have to suffer much, and you can 
suffer far more than many others. Life is so 
strong, so deep in you ! What heavy clouds ! 
And they are all between your twentieth and 
twenty-fifth year. After that, if you live, — 
yes, I see bright sunshine for you then. But 
you will never marry, although you will love.” 

Mercy forced a smile at this. What were 
love and marriage to her now.? Something 
so far ahead that she need never think of 
them. 

“You do not look at my hand,” said the 
girl, in a low voice. She was beginning to 
feel very gloomy and very sorry that she had 
come here. This was not any fun at all. 

The gipsy woman seemed to make an effort, 
and withdrew her eyes from the lovely face at 
which she had been looking, examining with 
closeness the tanned little hand she held. 

“ She is ‘ making believe ’ now,” thought 
Delight. 

The woman went on glibly with the custom- 
ary jargon in which the future is predicted. 


heartsease’s temper. 173 

She seemed to wish to efface from the minds 
of the girls the impression she had made. 

“You will succeed in anything you under- 
take ; you will always have friends. Even 
if you didn’t have money, people would love 
you — ” 

“ That is encouraging,” interrupted Mercy. 
“ But why do you think I am not poor ? ” 

The woman smiled and said : “ I know ; I do 
not need to be told things ; I can look through 
the veil.” 

“ I wish you’d tell me then how long before 
I can use my arm.” 

It was Heartsease who spoke. His curi- 
osity had made him stroll up and listen. 

The fortune-teller took no notice of his 
question, and he immediately repeated it, in- 
sistently. 

“ She’s not talking to you,” said Delight, 
giving her brother a little push, which he 
resented to such a degree that he stepped in 
between Mercy and the gipsy, and cried out 
after the manner of boys when they are angry: 

“You just let me be, ’Light! I guess I can 
speak to an old woman as well as you ! ” 


174 


CHUMS. 


Delight had sufficient caution to wish not 
to offend these people. Before she could 
speak the man who had gone to call the for- 
tune-teller, and who had been standing not 
far away, suddenly made a stride forward, ex- 
tended his hand, and took hold of the collar 
of Henry Hazelton’s jacket, lifting him so that 
his feet and legs dangled and wriggled in the 
air. He was swung off several yards and set 
down on the ground, while Delight had sprung 
forward, crying: 

“ Don’t hurt his arm ! ” 

When the feet of Heartsease touched the 
ground, it was instantly perceived that he was 
in a very bad mood indeed. It was not pleas- 
ant to be lifted up in that way before two girls 
who had smiled at the sight. He had seen 
them smile. 

He shook himself slightly, and turned furi- 
ously toward his sister. 

“ You hold your tongue ! ” he said. 

The man laughed at the boy’s fury, and then 
turned on his heel and walked away. 

Heartsease had been cross ever since De- 
light had lost that pickerel, and he had now 


heartsease’s temper. 


175 


come to the height of his ill-humour. He 
wanted so much to kick his sister that he 
turned and kicked into the air, 

“ I hate the whole thing ! ” he cried, loudly. 
“ I hate it ! I’m going home ! ” 

“ I have no objections,” said Delight. “ The 
sooner the better, I say. If father saw you 
he’d horsewhip you.” 

The two girls moved toward the boat. The 
gipsy looked at Heartsease and said : 

“ I can tell your fortune well enough. You’ll 
die in state’s prison or be hung.” 

The boy was beside himself now ; his rage 
was like a madness. He stooped and picked 
up a stone, then hurled it at the old woman, 
who involuntarily lifted her hand as a shield. 
But the stone whizzed by the hand and hit her 
forehead, its rough edge cutting a gash, and 
setting the blood to flowing freely. 

The two girls grew pale. The gipsy did 
not utter a sound, but she fell back against the 
trunk of a tree that stood near, and gradually 
sunk to the ground, still leaning against the 
tree. 

No one looked at the boy, whose anger had 


176 


CHUMS. 


instantly subsided at the sight of the blood. 
The men who had been lying on the ground a 
short distance away all rose to their feet, and 
the man who had lifted Heartsease, and who 
had just strolled away, came back instantly, 
and for the space of a second there was a 
striking tableau. 


CHAPTER XV. 

AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. 

“ you come home now.?^” asked De- 

light. 

She had moved to where her brother stood, 
and put her hand on his shoulder as she spoke. 

The woman who had been attending to the 
kettle over the fire hurried to the fortune-teller 
and began binding up her head. 

As Delight stood by her brother, Mercy 
went to the old woman and asked gently if 
she were much hurt. 

But she received no reply. The woman’s 
eyes were closed, and she looked very pale. 

“ She is old ; she can’t bear such blows,” 
said the other. 

“We are very sorry; we shall send over to 
learn how she is,” said Mercy. 

While these remarks were being made near 

177 


178 


CHUMS. 


the tree, a very different conversation was 
going on where Delight stood. 

When she had asked Heartsease if he would 
go home, the man had put his hand decidedly 
on the boy’s shoulder and said : 

“ No, he can’t go home now.” 

Heartsease trembled, but he did not speak. 
He had lost all his bravado, and was now a 
very meek, not to say frightened, sort of a 
person. 

“ Can’t go?’' repeated Delight, growing yet 
paler. 

“ No.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

The very excess of her alarm made the girl 
speak sharply and boldly. 

“ I mean that you two young ladies must get 
into your boat and go home. We sha’n’t let 
this little wretch go yet. I don’t know but he 
has killed my mother. I’m going to keep him 
and see how much harm he has done.” 

Heartsease was very limp and very white. 
He caught hold of Delight’s arm and whis- 
pered : 

“ You stay, too ! ” 


AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. 1 79 

“ No,” said the man, directly. “ She can’t 
stay ; I won’t have it. Go home ; you ladies, 
go home, I tell you ! ” 

What should she do? It seemed that she 
had no choice. It was useless to think she 
could stay. 

“ But how is my brother to get home ? ” 
she asked. 

“I don’t know,” carelessly. “You’ve got 
to go this minute.” 

It was plainly of no use to continue this 
talk, and the gipsy evidently had decided so, 
too, for he walked to the water’s edge and took 
hold of the boat, motioning imperatively for 
the girls to come. 

Heartsease did not stir; he stood stiffly 
where he had been left, his eyes watching the 
group at the boat. 

In another moment Mercy and Delight were 
afloat, their boat having been pushed vigor- 
ously off by the gipsy. The boy watched it 
go ; his eyes were dry and distended ; he felt 
as if life were over for him. He had no idea 
what was to be done with him. He won- 
dered if the old woman would die. Then he 


i8o 


CHUMS. 


would be a murderer. Perhaps they would 
roast him alive ; was it Indians or gipsies who 
did that.? Or tie him to a tree and shoot 
arrows at him ? But he was sure that it was 
Indians who did that last. His imagination 
ran dreadful riot in those few moments. Per- 
haps he would have a chance to run away. 
He could not do anything so well as if his arm 
were all right. 

Of course Delight would tell her father, and 
of course somebody would come to the rescue. 
Then he remembered that his father had gone 
off in the first train that morning on business 
to T urner, a large town twenty miles away ; he 
had been obliged to drive to Ryan to take 
the train, and he could not get home before 
nine in the evening ; and there was no way to 
send word to him. 

There was the regular hired man at home, 
or he would be at home by chore-time, but 
Ben, the boy said violently to himself, was a 
fool. 

In truth Ben was rather stupid, and exces- 
sively slow. 

A thousand thoughts were in his mind as 





“‘YOU don’t give us the slip, young man 


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AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. l8l 

he watched the boat going rapidly away, 
impelled by Mercy’s oars. 

Delight would do something ; that was cer- 
tain. But as she was only a girl, perhaps what 
she did would not amount to anything. He 
might have a chance to slip away unobserved. 
But this last notion was quickly dissipated, for 
the gipsy who had particular charge of him 
now came back from the shore, provided him- 
self with a rope, and was soon carefully tying 
Heartsease to a tree. 

“ You don’t give us the slip, young man,” he 
said. 

Heartsease did not speak until just as his 
captor was turning away ; then he said, 
hurriedly: 

“ I’ve got five dollars laid up at home. I’ll 
give it to you if you’ll let me go.” 

The only answer was a derisive laugh ; the 
man did not even look back. 

Heartsease saw a woman helping the old 
fortune-teller to the wagon ; and soon after 
that, the whole company gathered around the 
kettle which was lifted from the fire and set 
steaming in the midst of them. 


i 82 


CHUMS. 


They had spoons and wooden bowls or 
dishes, and they ate with immense appetites. 
In spite of his situation, Heartsease began 
to be hungry, but he told himself he would 
die before he would ask for any food. He 
remembered with anguish the well-stocked 
lunch-basket and the fish which were in the 
boat. 

After awhile their eating was less vigorous, 
and they began to talk animatedly, but in a 
language the boy did not understand. The 
woman rose and carried a bowl of the stew 
toward the wagon. When she came back she 
filled another bowl and brought it to Hearts- 
ease, who took it gratefully, and devoured it 
with eagerness. When the bottom of the 
bowl was reached, he felt his courage much 
revived, and he began to lay plans. Of course 
the old woman would not die; perhaps she had 
not been as much hurt as he had thought; 
they had made the most of it, undoubtedly. 

Meantime Mercy and Delight were rowing 
with all their might across the pond. It was 
a long while before either of them spoke. 
Finally Mercy said : 


AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. 1 83 

“ I don’t think the woman is hurt very 
much.” 

“ I’m glad of that,” responded Delight. 

“ And I don’t believe she would have let them 
keep Heartsease if she had known about it.” 

“ I guess they are all alike,” was the de- 
spondent reply from Delight, “ and it was 
very horrid of Henry. I hope he won’t finish 
by getting himself into prison.” 

“ What do you think they will do with him ? ” 
in an awestruck voice. 

No reply from Delight, who was thinking 
too deeply to answer. 

“ What are jfou going to do about it ? ” per- 
sisted Mercy. 

“ Going to get some one to go there as soon 
as I can.” 

“ You’ll have to go to the neighbours, then, 
because your father is gone.” 

“Yes.” 

By this time Mercy saw that she could not 
make her companion talk. 

They bent their whole strength to their oars, 
and soon they reached the shore, hurried out 
and pulled their craft up so it would not float 


184 


CHUMS. 


away, leaving lunch and fish forgotten. It 
would have been better if they had eaten 
something, for they were faint and exhausted 
when they reached the house. 

On the porch they were met by Mrs. Pine, 
their nearest neighbour, who came forward 
with uplifted hand. 

“Sh-sh-sh ! ” said she. 

Now Mrs. Pine, although a kind-hearted 
woman, was a particular aversion of Delight’s. 
She felt that she could hardly endure her now. 

“ What is the matter ? ” she asked, rather 
crossly. 

“ Your mother has one of her attacks,” was 
the answer, with special emphasis on the 
last word. “ So don’t make any noise. I’ve 
just got on a mustard and given her some of 
the preparation. She wanted to see you the 
minute you came, and now I must go home 
and tend to my own work ; but you may send 
for me if you want me.” 

Delight’s heart sank within her, but she said, 
“ Much obliged,” and hurried into the house. 

Her mother’s “ attacks ” were characterised 
by violent pain, perhaps caused by neuralgia. 


AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. 1 85 

and great prostration for a day after. Delight 
knew she must not mention to her now this 
last adventure of Henry’s. 

Her mother lay on the bed, pale, with glitter- 
ing eyes, and she was trying to suppress her 
moans. 

“ I’m glad you’ve come,” she said to her 
daughter; “sit down here by me.” 

Delight put her hand on the burning fore- 
head. For the next two hours she was entirely 
absorbed in taking care of the sufferer, whose 
illness was worse than Delight had ever 
known it. In that time the girl even forgot 
her brother, and Mercy was kept running, 
bringing hot flannels and hot water. 

“How I wish father were here ! ” was the 
constant cry in Delight’s mind. 

The day, which had been two hours after 
noon when the two had reached the house, 
wore on until sunset, and then Mrs. Chantry’s 
pain so far subsided that she fell asleep. 

Delight came out into the kitchen, where 
Mercy was keeping up the fire. She sank into 
a chair and covered her face with her hands, 
breaking into low sobs. Now that the strain 


i86 


CHUMS. 


upon her was removed, she felt like a child 
that must cry away its troubles. 

Mercy came to her side. 

“ Is she worse ? ” she asked, in a whisper. 

“ Better,” sobbed Delight, her shoulders be- 
ginning to heave more and more violently. 

“ Then don’t cry,” said Mercy, not very wisely. 

“ I’ve got to cry,” said Delight, “ or else go 
crazy with it all ! ” 

“ Then cry, by all means, — cry a barrel of 
tears,” returned Mercy, whose spirits began to 
rise with ludicrous rapidity. “ And I’ve a 
great mind to keep you company.” 

“No, don’t!” exclaimed Delight, lifting her 
swollen face. “ I hope one of us will keep 
her wits about her.” 

“ It won’t be me, then,” said Mercy. 

She whisked about suddenly, and opened the 
oven door, drawing out by means of the corner 
of her apron a dish which was carefully covered 
by a plate, and which emitted a curious odour. 

“ You haven’t eaten a morsel since breakfast,” 
she said, “ and while you were in your mother’s 
room I thought I’d make something rather 
nice for you when you had a moment. There 1 ” 


AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. 


187 


Curiosity as to what Mercy could have made, 
that was “ rather nice,” overcame for the time 
every other feeling in Delight’s mind. 

She bent over and sniffed, then drew sud- 
denly back. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked, abruptly, and invol- 
untarily raised her hand to her nose. 

“ Is there a disagreeable odour ? ” asked 
Mercy, with more dignity than usual. 

“ I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” be- 
gan Delight, and then she interrupted herself 
to ask with uncontrollable curiosity, “ What is 
it, anyway ? ” 

“ It is an omelet with fine herbs,” replied 
Mercy. “ They were always so good at U ncle 
Benedict’s ; and I asked the cook once how to 
make one; I always remembered the recipe.” 

“ Did they look like this } ” 

“No; they didn’t.” 

“ If I were to describe the looks of this, I 
should use just one word,” said Delight. 

“ What?” 

“ Diabolical.” 

“You needn’t eat it,” said Mercy, de- 
pressedly. 


i88 


CHUMS. 


“ Thank you.” 

Mercy took the dish carefully in her apron, 
and went and put it on the piazza. 

“ I think something is the matter with it,” 
she said, as she returned. “ Shall I bring out 
some bread and milk for both of us } ” 

When the two girls had satisfied their 
appetites, Mercy remarked: 

“ Perhaps I was not born to be a cook.” 

“ What did you put in that omelet ” asked 
Delight. 

“ Milk and eggs, of course. But something 
happened to the milk when it began to cook. 
It grew watery and lumpy.” 

“Oh, it separated,” said Delight. “That 
partly accounts for the smell.” 

“ Separated } ” repeated Mercy. 

“Yes; soured, curdled.” 

“ The milk seemed sweet when I took it 
from the pan.” 

“ The heat soured it ; you didn’t get the 
right milk. Go on.” 

“ I had doubts when it looked so odd, but I 
thought it would come out all right. I sprin- 
kled in the herbs at the proper moment.” 


AN OMELET WITH FINE HERBS. 1 89 

“ Where did you get the herbs ? ” 

“ Out in the storeroom where Fve seen your 
mother go ; and she told me once that in the 
right-hand corner were hung the herbs for 
flavouring, and in the left-hand corner were 
the herbs for medicine. So I took some 
from the right hand.” 

“You have it just wrong. It’s the right- 
hand corner which has the medicine herbs. 
Come and show me what you took.” 

They went into the storeroom. 

“ That is what I used, — and powdered it in 
my fingers.” 

She touched a bundle of broad, long leaves. 

Delight stared aghast. 

“ That is skunk’s cabbage,” she said. “ You 
made an omelet of eggs and sour milk and 
skunk’s cabbage. Why not go to a cooking- 
school before you try again } ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


HEARTSEASE MISSING STILL. 

TTALF an hour before the girls had dared 
to expect him, Mr. Chantry drove into 
the yard. Delight hastened out and told the 
story of her brother’s misdeeds and mishaps. 
Much to her relief, he did not seem alarmed. 

“ I hope it’ll be a lesson to the young scamp,” 
he said. “ I’ll go and get Mr. Long and his 
son to go with me. You jump in to show us 
just where to find the camp.” 

Then Delight explained that she could not 
leave her mother. After Mr. Chantry had been 
to assure himself that his wife was really better, 
he started out with Mercy for a guide to search 
for his son. 

“ He’s always in a row,” said young Long, 
after they had eagerly listened, as they drove, 
to Mercy’s story of what she called the “ ab- 
duction of Heartsease.” “ I never saw such a 


HEARTSEASE MISSING STILL. I9I 

boy. I s’pose he’s never been stole by gipsies 
now before, has he ? I’d like to know what’s 
the next thing on his books.” 

The young man said he knew the place 
after Mercy had described how they had 
approached it in the boat. He knew when 
to leave the public road, and what cart-path 
to take. 

They soon came to the spot. The stars 
shone clearly enough for them to discern that 
no one was there. 

Mercy was out of the carriage with the rest. 

“ They have gone ! ” she cried. 

Mr. Chantry said, “ Impossible ! ” and began 
to be really alarmed. 

Mercy pushed her foot among the ashes of 
the fire, and brought into sight some live 
coals. There was no question but that this 
was the place. 

They all groped about for a few moments, 
Mr. Chantry keeping very silent. How could 
they get on the track in the night? And it 
would be very hard to wait until morning. 

“ There are but two ways for them to go 
after they reach the main road,” said Mr. 


192 


CHUMS. 


Chantry, “and as they came down from the 
north it is likely they went on south, toward 
Blakeborough. Such a company would be 
sure to be noticed. We will inquire.” 

Once out on the main highway, and Mr. 
Long went to the first house on the north 
while the rest drove toward the south. But 
absolutely nothing was to be learned. It did 
not seem advisable to pursue the search until 
daylight, and the party returned in silence. 

“ Don’t tell your mother,” said Mr. Chantry, 
as Delight again met him in the yard. “ We 
shall find him to-morrow.” 

Then the two girls went dejectedly into the 
house. 

The next morning Delight was up very 
early to make her father a cup of coffee 
before he started afresh on his search. With 
the new day Mr. Chantry’s hope was great. 

“ I shall find them encamped within ten 
miles of here, near Blakeborough,” he said. 

As Mr. Chantry hurriedly ate his breakfast, 
Mercy came into the kitchen. 

“ Do let me go with you,” she said. “ I 
want to see Heartsease when he’s found.” 


HEARTSEASE MISSING STILL. 1 93 

“ All right, then,” said a voice ; “ you just 
look around and see him.” 

The voice came from the open door. Mr. 
Chantry rose quickly from the table, and the 
two girls uttered an exclamation. 

There stood Henry Hazelton, very red and 
very dusty, and trying to conceal that he was 
rather hysterical. 

His father seized him by the hand and drew 
him into the room. He was so glad, for the 
moment, that he forgot to be angry. 

“ Where did you come from ? ” he asked. 

“ From Blakeborough.” 

“ Did you walk all the way ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Lucky your arm is nearly well. How did 
you get away ? ” 

“ The old woman set me loose.” 

“ The woman whom you hit ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ How is she ? ” 

“ Don’t know. Her face is swelled up and 
horrid.” 

Mr. Chantry’s gratitude was fast giving place 
now to indignation against his son. 


194 


CHUMS. 


“ You didn’t deserve to get off so easily,” he 
said, sternly. “ The woman must have been 
uncommonly kind, or she wouldn’t have let 
you go.” 

Heartsease stood looking down at his bare 
feet. He was hungry and thirsty, having been 
on the road long before it was really light ; and 
he had run a good part of the way, so eager 
had he been to get home. 

“ I want you to give her ten dollars,” he 
said, suddenly, speaking very loudly and des- 
perately, and flashing his eyes up for an instant 
at his father’s face. 

“ Oh, did you promise her that ? ” 

“ Yes, I did.” 

“ And that is why she let you go, eh ? ” 

“ No, it isn’t, either. She came to where 
they had tied me to a tree, early this morn- 
ing. You see they left that camp by midnight, 
almost. They said they often went in the 
night in hot weather.” 

Here was plainly to be seen a little air of 
pride in the superior knowledge his adventure 
had given him. 

“ I don’t care when they travel,” said 


HEARTSEASE MISSING STILL. 1 95 

Mr. Chantry, sharply. “ Go on with your 
Story.” 

“Well,” in a more subdued way, “she came, 
with her head bound up, and untied the rope. 
She said she was sure I knew the way home ; 
and that she didn’t let me go because she 
liked me — ” 

“ I should think not ! ” interjected Mr. Chan- 
try. “ Precious little reason she had for liking 
you ! ” 

“ But for the sake of the young lady with the 
dark eyes.” 

Here the boy glared markedly at Mercy, 
who blushed with astonishment, and some 
other feeling she could not define. 

“ The young lady with the dark eyes ! ” 
repeated Mr. Chantry, and he laughed as he 
added, “ This is really growing romantic, 
Mercy.” 

“ You are making that story up. Heartsease,” 
cried the girl. “ The gipsy never said that.” 

“ But she did, though,” said Heartsease, 
boldly, “just those words, and I was so kind 
of glad to get away that I promised her ten 
dollars, and I’m to carry it to her before next 


196 


CHUMS. 


Wednesday, on the east side of Blakeborough, 
about half a mile from the town. Will you 
lend it to me, father ? ” 

“ How will you pay me ? ” 

“ I shall pick berries, and do whatever I can.” 

“Very well. I shall hold you to the pay- 
ment of every cent.” 

Mr. Chantry rose and went out of the house, 
and Heartsease instantly sat down in the chair 
his father had vacated. 

“ Guy ! but I’m hungry ! ” he said. “ ’Light, 
give me some beans, and some coffee ; reach 
me some of that corn-cake, will you, and that 
cold ham ? ” 

“Won’t you have something else?” anx- 
iously inquired Mercy, as Delight poured 
the coffee, and hastened to put the different 
plates of food near him. 

“Not just now,” was the reply. 

After a few minutes, which he employed to 
the utmost, the boy said, looking at Mercy : 

“ If it hadn’t been for you, it wouldn’t have 
happened.” 

“ What ! ” she cried, indignantly. “ Did I 
make you throw that nasty stone?” 


HEARTSEASE MISSING STILL. 1 97 

“ But you wanted to land and have your for- 
tune told,” he said, triumphantly. 

“Don’t be a fool!” said Delight. “If you are 
going back like that, why, if we hadn’t gone 
fishing, we shouldn’t have seen the gipsies. 
You can’t hide behind a girl’s back, Henry, 
and I’d be ashamed to try.” 

This touched him ; he turned red, and mut- 
tered something to the effect that he wasn’t 
doing any such thing. 

It was some hours later that Mercy, who had 
seen Heartsease go to the barn, sauntered 
there herself. She found him watching the 
astonishing gyrations of a six weeks old calf. 

“ I want to give you that ten dollars. Hearts- 
ease,” she said. 

“ No, you won’t,” he replied. 

“It will take you an age to earn it,” she re- 
marked, taking her place beside him, with 
back against the barn and eyes fixed on the 
calf. 

“No matter if it does,” was the dogged 
reply. 

“ How are you going to do it, anyway ? ” 
she inquired. 


198 


CHUMS. 


“ Mostly berries.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” 

The boy made no response. He watched 
the calf more intently than before. 

“ And you can’t use both hands,” she con- 
tinued, after a time. 

“ I can in a week or two more, before huckle- 
berries are thickest.” 

“ Then the price will be down.” 

“ Can’t help that.” 

“ I think you are a very silly boy. You 
know really I did want to land and see the 
gipsies,” said Mercy, “ so in a way it was my 
fault.” 

“ That’s all bosh,” said Heartsease, suddenly 
stooping and picking up a stone to fire over 
the calf’s head. 

“ But you said so yourself,” she remarked. 

“ Then I was a poor stick. Of course I 
didn’t mean it.” 

“ But you’ll take the ten dollars, Henry, 
won’t you ? ” turning to him in a coaxing way. 

“ I won’t, then ! ” flatly. 

“For I have an awful lot of money. That 
ten dollars wouldn’t affect me any.” 


HEARTSEASE MISSING STILL. 1 99 

Which was not strictly true. Although 
Mercy was the owner of what, in a sense, was 
a lot of money, her allowance of pocket-money 
was not very large, and ten dollars would make 
a vast difference in it. 

“ Mighty jolly for you, then ! ” said Hearts- 
ease, with unction. 

“ And you’ll take it ? ” 

“ No, sir-ee ! ” 

“ Then I know what I’ll do, in spite of you ! ” 
triumphantly. 

“What.?" 

“ Help pick the berries.” 

“ But that won’t be fair.” 

“ I can’t help that; I’m going to do it; and 
I say let’s begin to-day. They were twelve 
cents a quart down at the village day before 
yesterday, and they’ll grow cheaper every day. 
I’m going now. You might come with me, 
and get what you can.” 

He could not resist this arrangement, and 
the two were soon on their way to the Rocky 
Pasture, each bearing a pail which was to hold 
“ low blues.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


LOW BLUES. 

TAELIGHT could not go, for she had a 
good deal of extra work to do on account 
of her mother’s illness. Mrs. Chantry was 
better; the pain had not returned, but she 
was still very weak ; by the next day she 
would probably be down-stairs. 

Heartsease and Mercy found a place where 
the berries were thicker than they had ex- 
pected, and they were soon entirely absorbed 
in their work. 

After a while Heartsease stopped in his 
slow and laborious picking with one hand, 
and looked into a thicket of scrub-oak with 
such an expression of anxiety that Mercy 
looked also. 

“ Did you hear a rustling } ” he asked. 

She had not heard it, and was inclined to 
believe that he had not, either. 


200 


LOW BLUES. 


201 


“ I s’pose you’re going to tell me that a 
tiger from a circus is loose in these fields,” 
she said. 

“ Fd as lief ’twould be a tiger,” returned the 
boy, mysteriously. 

He went on picking again, but he kept 
glancing at the clump of oaks. At last he 
started up hurriedly. 

“ Let’s come away from here ! ” he cried. 

“But we haven’t got more than half the 
berries,” said Mercy, who still believed he was 
arranging some joke, and who was not going 
to fall a victim to it. 

“ Hang the berries ! ” he cried. “ It’s that 
tarnal old cow that’s worse’n any tiger! She 
has tossed no end of children I I thought they 
didn’t let her out in this pasture nowadays 1 ” 

He was standing upright; his pail was on 
the ground, and he was looking, with hand 
shading his eyes, into the thicket. 

Mercy was well endowed with physical cour- 
age, so she was not easily alarmed. She had 
never heard anything about this ill-tempered 
and dangerous cow; and she did not quite 
believe in it. 


202 


CHUMS. 


But the next instant both of them became 
plainly aware of a sharp cry, coming ap- 
parently from the other side of the oaks. It 
was a cry of alarm and distress, something 
which neither of those who heard it could run 
away from unheeded. 

Forgetting themselves, they both dashed 
away from among the bushes and in among 
the oaks. 

The cry was not repeated, but a voice was 
heard shouting : 

“ Go away ! Go along ! ” 

Even then, Mercy fancied there was some- 
thing familiar in that tone, but she could not 
tell what it was. 

The next moment both the children had 
emerged from the oaks, and both involuntarily 
paused an instant, for, directly in front of them 
stood a large brindled cow with sharp, long 
horns. She was furiously shaking her head, 
but her head was away from them, and, 
plainly, she did not see them. Her whole 
attention was directed toward a small figure 
which was standing near a huge oak, evidently 
preparing to dodge around it, if necessary. 


LOW BLUES. 203 

That figure, in the midst of her astonish- 
ment, Mercy knew well. 

Acting on the impulse of the moment, 
without an instant’s thought of what the 
result might be, Mercy snatched off her large- 
brimmed hat, with its flying scarlet ribbons, 
and ran forward, flourishing it in the face of 
the cow, having an idea that the animal would 
turn and run away. 

Heartsease groaned aloud. 

“ Doesn’t she know any better ? ” he cried. 

But it was too late to stop her. The cow 
turned and shook her head at the hat and 
ribbons. Mercy saw the flame of her vicious 
eyes. If she had not been as excited as she 
was, she would have been afraid. 

“ Run ! Clear out ! ” now shouted the boy 
by the oak-tree, addressing not the cow, but 
the girl, who did not even hear him. 

The next instant the cow started toward 
Mercy, snorting, and looking as if she would 
tear up the very ground before her. The girl 
had absorbed the cow’s attention entirely, and 
the consequence was that she had to turn and 
run with all her might. She was running 


204 


CHUMS. 


slightly down-hill, among rocks, huckleberry 
and sweet fern bushes, and she flew on, feeling 
as if her feet hardly touched the ground, but 
hearing the hoofs behind her, and wishing she 
could literally fly. 

Heartsease absolutely danced up and down 
in the height of his excitement. He did not 
notice in the least the individual who had 
been the unwitting cause of this dangerous 
predicament. He ran down a few rods, then 
stopped, put his hand to his mouth, and 
shouted : 

“ The gap in the wall ! Make for the gap ! 
To the left ! The gap ! ” 

Did she hear him ? If she did not she would 
have no chance whatever, he thought, to es- 
cape before the cow could reach her. And 
she was not sufficiently familiar with the pas- 
ture to know of that gap. 

But she did hear, for she swerved immedi- 
ately to the left, and the boy near Heartsease 
cried out, with intense gratitude : 

“ She heard you ! She will get away ! ” 

Yes, she did get away. Panting, with heavy 
heart - beats all through her body, Mercy 


LOW BLUES. 


205 


reached the gap in the wall, and squeezed 
through it, then sank on the grass of the 
“ mowing,” and lay there well-nigh breathless, 
hearing the cow marching up and down the 
other side of the wall. 

“ We’d just better cut stick as soon as we 
can,” said Heartsease, turning to his unknown 
companion. 

“Just my notion precisely. There’s no tell- 
ing when that creature may come back, and 
there’s no other girl near to save us.” 

“ Guy ! that’s so ! It makes a feller feel 
kind of mean to owe so much to the girls,” 
remarked Heartsease, as the two went as 
rapidly as possible toward a fence at the 
right. 

“ Oh, I’m used to that,” said the other. 

“ We’ll climb that fence, and skirt along till 
we come to the field where Mercy is.” 

Nothing more was said until the two boys 
had reached the other side of the fence. Then 
they both looked earnestly down toward the 
place in the wall, near which Mercy must be. 

“ I hope she hasn’t broken any bones,” said 
Heartsease, who naturally thought of bones. 


2o6 


CHUMS. 


Then he turned to the stranger and said, 
more gently than he usually spoke : 

“ Do you mind my going on faster ? I want 
to see if anything is the matter.” 

“ Go on ; I’ll come as fast as I can,” was the 
answer. 

Sanxay Ranier, for, reader, as the novels 
say, you already know it was he, toiled 
on as well as he could. But before he 
reached the place he had the pleasure of 
seeing Mercy stand up on the other side 
of the wall and wave her hand at him, to 
which he responded by flinging up his 
hat. 

“ I’m going to lay a deep plot by which I 
can save you from something dreadful. Miss 
Mercy,” said Sanxay, when he had shaken 
hands with the girl. “ I’m most awfully tired 
of this one-sided kind of business. I don’t 
want you to rescue me from anything again. 
I’m not going to be grateful. If you see a 
tiger devouring me, I warn you not to disturb 
him.” 

“ I won’t promise,” said Mercy, gaily. 

“ I never saw anything so idiotic as it was 


LOW BLUES. 


207 


for you to shake your hat in that way,” said 
Henry Hazelton, severely. “ What did you 
think you were going to do ? ” 

“ Frighten the cow, of course.” 

“ J ust like a girl ! ” he cried out. 

The dwarf turned upon him, savagely. 

“You just hold your tongue, my young 
friend ! ” he said. “ It doesn’t look well for 
you or me to criticise.” 

“Yes; but the idea of her thinking 
would frighten a cow ! ” persisted the boy. 

Mercy was not in the mood to have much 
patience with Heartsease. Besides, she didn’t 
know just how he would treat Sanxay, whose 
appearance seemed miraculous simply because 
it was unexpected. 

She learned that he and his mother were 
visiting a friend near Ryan, and that he had 
been driving out with his ponies, had been 
beguiled into picking berries by the roadside, 
and had strolled farther and farther into the 
pasture. 

“What do you say,” he concluded, with 
animation, “to our all going back to the 
phaeton, and I’ll take you home } ” 


2o8 


CHUMS. 


“ And our quart of low blues which we have 
left over there ? ” questioned Mercy. 

“ Must be left as a reward of merit to the 
cow,” said Sanxay. 

Nobody dared to go for them. 


CHAPTER 'XVIII. 


A PRESENT. 


pvELIGHT CHANTRY had been wash- 
ing dishes and milk-pans until her soul 
was tried within her. 

But the last pan had been turned over on 
the wood-pile in the sun, and she had washed 
and rinsed the two dish-towels and was spread- 
ing them also on the wood-pile, when a distant, 
but very distinct, “Whoop! Hurrah!” made her 
look down the road. 

A pair of ponies had just turned the corner, 
and were coming on rapidly, kicking up a cloud 
of dust ; but in the dust, beneath the phaeton 
canopy. Delight was sure she saw the figure of 
her brother waving his hat in a much glorified 
manner. 

Delight ran out to the fence, forgetting how 
tired she was. 


209 


210 


CHUMS. 


“ Those must be Sanxay Ranier’s ponies ; 
but how came they here ? ” 

In another moment they had dashed up, 
and Heartsease jumped out, volubly narrating 
everything that had happened. 

, Sanxay was invited in to have a drink of 
cool milk, and for a time there was a great 
chattering and laughing. Only, Mercy could 
not help moaning over her lost berries. 

“ Instead of being thankful she hadn’t a 
broken neck,” as Delight remarked. And 
then she added, in her sensible way, that it 
was just possible the berries might be re- 
covered. They would go for them when the 
cow had been driven home, after supper. 

They did so, and behold, Mercy’s pail of ber- 
ries stood safely where she had left it, but the 
cow had stepped squarely into the other pail, 
crushed the berries, and burst out the bottom 
of the pail. Heartsease shut his teeth hard 
when he saw this destruction, and he was 
hardly grateful that the animal had chosen 
the smaller quantity to destroy. 

That night, when Mr. Chantry came from the 
post-office, he brought a letter to Mercy from 


A PRESENT. 


2II 


Madame Delmont. It announced that Julia 
Bowers had been improving for the last three 
or four days, and that she was now considered 
out of danger. Her mother would remain with 
her until she was able to be moved, when 
mother and daughter would go home. Ma- 
dame Delmont, relieved from anxiety concern- 
ing her pupil, was going to leave the following 
day. 

The note ended with a cordial wish that 
nothing might prevent the two girls from 
returning to Holden Institute at the close of 
vacation. 

But how long those vacation days still 
seemed ! 

It was on one of these that Heartsease 
searched for the gipsies to pay the money 
he had promised. 

The girls were sitting on the stoop paring 
and cutting apples when the youth turned the 
corner of the house on his return. He would 
not answer a question until he had eaten a 
great many doughnuts. Then he graciously 
signified he would speak. 

“ Did you find them ? ” asked Delight. 


212 


CHUMS. 


He nodded. 

“ How is the fortune-teller ? ” 

“ Well ’nough. There was an all-fired fuss 
about that stone, I think.” 

“ Did she say anything ? ” 

“ Well — yes — she said — something.” 
Heartsease hesitated and seemed a little 
confused. 

“ What ? ” came from both the girls. 

“ She said that I was a gentleman,” blurted 
the boy. 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” in chorus from his listeners. 

“ Because you threw that stone ? ” asked 
Delight. 

“ Because I kept my word.” He looked at 
Mercy and added, “ She wouldn’t take that 
money for telling your fortune. You know 
you told me to pay her that when I went.” 

“ Why wouldn’t she take it ? ” 

“ She wouldn’t tell. She’s a queer one. She 
said she had decided not to. And so here 
it is.” 

He took out of his trousers pocket and put 
in Mercy’s lap a shining half-dollar. She 
wanted to tell him to keep it toward the ten 


A PRESENT. 


213 


dollars he was to pay his father, but she was 
not sure but he might resent it if she did so. 

“ She’s a very odd fortune-teller,” she re- 
marked. 

“ Awfully strange thing for one to refuse 
money. Fm afraid that blow on the head has 
confused her mind,” said Delight. 

“ Bosh ! She’s bright enough,” answered the 
boy. 

At last, when everything had been talked 
over. Heartsease looked at Mercy and an- 
nounced : 

“ I brought home something for you — a 
present.” 

“ For me ? What made you hold it back so 
long ? ” asked the girl, with some irritation. 

“You provoking boy,” cried Delight, giving 
him a push, “ not to tell before ! ” 

Yielding to that impetus. Heartsease went 
into the yard where the wagon had been left, 
and drew something in a newspaper from 
under the seat. He went back in the kitchen, 
carrying the package carefully, and as if it 
were very heavy. He deposited it on the 
floor at Mercy’s feet. 


214 


CHUMS. 


“ There it is. Don’t ask me to lift it again 
with my one arm.” 

Mercy stooped, preparing to take something 
of great weight, and exclaimed as she found 
the parcel so light. 

The wrapping was quickly off. The present 
was a beautiful work-basket, with compart- 
ments, all made of scarlet and white willow. 

“ Where is my basket ? ” asked Delight, 
turning on her brother. 

“ Ain’t any for you.” 

Delight clasped her hands. 

“ None for me ! ” she cried out at the top of 
her low-toned voice. Then she suddenly went 
down to her deepest notes, and repeated, “ None 
for me ? ” flinging out her hands furiously. 
“Let the gipsies be accursed! — accur-r-rsed I 
accurs-edl ” 

“ Delight I ” 

The voice came from the sitting-room, and 
her mother now stood at the door, her face at 
first alarmed, but changing to an amused look 
as soon as she saw the group. 

“ I didn’t know,” she said, “ but it might be 
some — some hyena.” 


A PRESENT. 


215 


“ It’s only me, mother,” replied Delight, un- 
grammatically. “Look at this basket. A 
work-basket for Mercy, and she hardly knows 
how to thread her needle, much less to set a 
stitch.” 

“ I must learn. I must make everything I 
wear,” announced Mercy. 

“ Do ; and I guess you won’t have quite so 
many flounces and streamers,” said Delight. 

“ Do you object to my flounces and 
streamers, miss ? ” swiftly turning on her 
friend, who shrank back, eagerly exclaiming: 

“ No ! no ! I love ’em ; every one ! ” 

“Very well, then. Mrs. Chantry,” looking 
at that lady, who was examining the basket, 
“ I really can’t sew, and I wish this basket had 
been of some other kind. If it had been some- 
thing beside a gipsy who had sent it to me, I 
should give it to Delight.” 

“ Indeed, no,” protested her friend. For a 
moment Mercy was looking rather grave. She 
was thinking, as she sometimes did, of the 
sombre future which the gipsy had appeared 
to see for her. 

“ What is this ? ” asked Mrs. Chantry. She 


2I6 


CHUMS. 


drew from one of the little compartments a bit 
of paper folded closely, and handed it to Mercy. 
The girls felt this to be very interesting, and 
their hearts beat faster as Mercy unrolled the 
paper, which was evidently a scrap torn from 
the margin of a newspaper. There was writ- 
ing in pencil upon it, — not so much like char- 
acters in script as in laboriously printed 
letters. 

Mercy’s face was pale as she deciphered the 
words, and read them aloud. But they were 
not as vague as prophecies usually are. She 
read : 

“ A great danger waits for the girl with the gipsy eyes. 
I seem to see the peril here in this country. Let her go 
to her home within a week and she will escape it.” 

“ Guy!” 

This exclamation came with great force 
from Henry Hazelton. He had no more 
imagination than a practical, active boy 
usually has, and this to him was only some- 
thing to laugh at. 

“ She’s gone it steep this time, hasn’t she ? 
She’s an old cat I ” 


A PRESENT. 


217 


“ She’s been kind enough to you ! ” retorted 
Delight, who could not bring herself at once to 
speak lightly. “ You be quiet ! ” 

Heartsease was silent. 

Mercy continued looking at the scrawl in 
her hand. Mrs. Chantry’s face grew severe. 

“ It is wicked to play upon one’s feelings in 
this way,” she said, indignantly. “We know 
very well that such words are mere folly, ut- 
terly without reason. She can’t make such a 
prophecy as that, unless they intend to com- 
pass some danger for you themselves, which is 
unlikely in these days. I suppose they are not 
brigands ! ” 

“They won’t do anything. They are off 
before this,” said Heartsease, surprised to hear 
his mother speak so emphatically on the sub- 
ject. “ They were packing up when I was 
there.” 

“ I don’t suppose, in the least, they will do 
anything,” responded Mrs. Chantry. “ But I 
have no patience with any such stuff as that.” 

She put her hand on Mercy’s shoulder, as 
she continued: 

“ I hope you will forget those silly words.” 


2I8 


CHUMS. 


“ I will try to forget them.” 

“ And you are not going away from here 
until vacation is over,” said Delight. 

“ Not I — if I can help it.” 

But Mercy did not speak with her usual 
animation. She folded the paper and rose, 
saying she should put it in her pocketbook, 
which was in her room. 

She went up-stairs, and Delight went on 
cutting apples. 

She finished her task, and Mercy had not 
come down. 

Mrs. Chantry could hardly express herself 
severely enough concerning such fortune- 
telling. 

Delight went to her room, which was 
Mercy’s also. She found her friend standing 
by the open window, and looking absently into 
the branches of a cherry-tree which grew near. 
Mercy did not stir as her companion came up 
and put her arm about her. 

“ Mother says it is a shame for a girl with 
any sensitiveness, any imagination, to have 
such a thing said to her ! ” exclaimed Delight, 
vehemently. 


A PRESENT. 219 

Mercy leaned against her friend, and in a 
voice not quite steady, she said: 

“ Sometimes I long so for my mother ! ” 
When she had spoken she turned and threw 
herself into Delight’s arms, who held her fast, 
while she sobbed heavily. 

At last Delight began to whisper soothing 
and loving words, and Mercy gradually became 
calmer. 

There was no cloud on the brilliant, dark 
little face the next day when she and her 
friend, with Heartsease, climbed into Sanxay 
Ranier’s phaeton, and they all drove off to a 
distant berry pasture. The black huckleber- 
ries were beginning to come now, and the day 
of low blues was passing. 

“ Warranted to contain no animal that would 
harm the smallest child,” said Sanxay, as he 
gathered up the lines. 

“ What are you talking about ? ” asked 
Heartsease. 

“ The pasture.” 

The whole party went to work in the berry 
field in good earnest. 

After a season of silence and labour, a hand 


220 


CHUMS. 


put aside the thick branches of a young pine, 
and Delight said : 

“ I was told that no animal was in this 
pasture — or I wouldn’t have come.” 

“ What now ? ” asked the dwarf, coming 
forward. 

He joined the two girls, and they pointed 
toward the slope of a hill a short distance 
away, where, among the sweet fern, moved a 
large, tawny animal, snuffing about as if to 
discover the scent of something. 

“ I didn’t think he’d find me,” said Sanxay, 
looking eagerly at the creature. “ J ust watch 
and see what he’ll do when he sees me.” 

What the creature did was to come with 
great leaps over and through the bushes until 
he reached Sanxay’s side, and stood there 
gazing into his small master’s face, and wag- 
ging his tail violently, — a magnificent St. 
Bernard dog of the largest kind. 

Of course the young folks fell in love with 
him on the spot, and greatly scolded Sanxay 
for not having brought him before. 

“ A cousin of mine has been keeping him 
for the last six months,” said Sanxay, “ but I 


A PRESENT. 


221 


wouldn’t do without him any longer. The 
foolish thing absolutely loves me.” 

There was something in the dwarf’s tone 
which made it difficult to answer him. After 
a silence he spoke again. 

“ It’s a lovely sort of a world, after all. But 
sometimes I think I have no place in it, and 
that it would be just as well if I were out of it. 
It doesn’t make a fellow happy to go around 
in this shape.” 

The girls longed to say something comfort- 
ing, — but what could it be that should soothe 
him ? 

“ I suppose my mother would care,” he went 
on, as if speaking to himself. “ I think moth- 
ers can’t help loving their children.” 

A cold nose touched his hand. The St. 
Bernard asked for attention. 

“ And Tiny Tim is actually attached to me,” 
he said, with an odd smile. 

The enormous dog had been named Tiny 
Tim. 

Sanxay now looked at Delight, and re- 
marked : 

“You didn’t know I was such a sentimental 


222 


CHUMS. 


lout, did you? Well, I’m not going to die. 
I’m going to live to be a horrid little old 
man.” 

“You are a wicked boy,” said Delight, 
earnestly. 

“ Do you think so ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, I do. It is a shame for a boy whom 
everybody likes to talk like that.” 

“ But everybody doesn’t like me.” 

“We speak for ourselves, then,” said Mercy. 
“We like you.” 

Even the skeptical little dwarf could not 
doubt the sweet sincerity of that voice, nor 
the soft shining of those eyes. 

“ Really ? ” he said. “ That is good. I be- 
lieve you do. You don’t know how glad I am. 
You two have always treated me as if I were 
just like anybody. I’ve never seen in your 
face what a horrid atom I am — ” 

“ Stop ! ” said Delight, authoritatively. 

“ I will stop. I don’t know what mood took 
possession of me. I never talk so except to 
my mother.” 

He rose and walked away to where Hearts- 
ease was at work. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A DRY TIME. 

TT was hot, suffocatingly hot. There had been 
no rain for weeks. A smoky haze hung 
over everything. The sun rose coppery and 
dull every morning. The gardens where the 
farmers had toiled were drooping and dying. 
Even those brooks which did not usually fail 
in a dry time failed now, or there was only 
a poor little stream in the bottom of the 
course. 

The wells of many of the neighbours had 
given out. The cattle, instead of getting water 
at their usual places, came down the lane 
lowing mournfully every noon, and water had 
to be carried to them. 

Reports of forest fires in distant parts of 
the country kept coming to the ears of the 
people. 


223 


224 


CHUMS. 


“ I hope the Walton woods won’t get on 
fire,” said Delight, one day. 

“Why the Walton woods particularly?” 
asked Mercy. 

“ Because they are so large, and there are 
a dozen or more houses in them. I don’t 
believe a fire there would ever stop, with 
everything as dry as tinder.” 

“ It’s a horrible time,” said Mercy, shudder- 
ing. “ I never felt so gloomy in my life. If 
it doesn’t rain soon we shall all die. Mr. 
Long’s well is dry now. Heartsease said, and 
your father must go for water down to Mr. 
Martin’s.” 

“ I’m so tired of this smoky smell in 
the air,” exclaimed Delight, putting down a 
book she had been trying to read. “ And I 
can’t take a long breath,” throwing back her 
head. 

Heartsease came around the corner of the 
house fanning himself with his straw hat. He 
was in his usual costume of checked shirt and 
overalls with one suspender. 

“ Have you seen that smoke ? ” he asked, 
pointing over his shoulder. 


A DRY TIME. 225 

“We haven’t seen anything but smoke for a 
good many days,” was the answer. 

Mercy walked to the end of the house and 
looked in the direction where Heartsease had 
pointed. A thick and wide column of smoke 
was pouring up into the murky sky ; there was 
little or no wind, and the smoke would remain 
for some time almost stationary, till, as more 
rose, a part of the pillar would slowly dissipate 
and waver off, adding to the thickness and 
gloom of the heavens. 

Mercy was interested, but not startled, for 
she had seen signs of many forest fires within 
the last two weeks. 

“ Come here,” she said to Delight, who lan- 
guidly rose and came forward. She turned 
quickly toward Heartsease and asked: 

“ Has father seen that ? ” 

“Don’t know; he’s off in the ten-acre lot 
with the oxen.” 

Delight looked excited, and Mercy, glancing 
at her, began to feel excited also. How close 
and choking it was ! How brassy and relent- 
less were the sky and sun ! 

“ I think that is the Walton woods,” ex- 


226 


CHUMS. 


claimed Delight, “and father said everybody 
must go and fight the fire, if they caught, or 
there would be houses and lives lost.” 

“Yes; I guess that’s where that fire is,” said 
Heartsease, in a manner unwontedly subdued. 

As he spoke, there was the sound of horses’ 
hoofs and of hurrying wheels. A rickety hay- 
rigging, with half a score of men standing in 
it, some of them bearing long-handled shovels, 
rattled down the hill and into sight. 

The pair of rapidly trotting horses dashed 
on, and then were suddenly drawn up in front 
of the house, while one of the men called out, 
looking at Delight, who had stepped forward : 

“ Where’s your father ? ” 

She told him. 

“ Can’t one of you run over and tell him the 
Walton woods are on fire.'^ If a south wind 
comes up, I don’t know why the whole country 
won’t be burned over.” 

Before Delight could say that she would go, 
a voice from down the road yelled : 

“ Hullo there, Henry! Come and drive these 
oxen home I I can’t wait for them.” 

It was Mr. Chantry, and he strode on quickly, 


A DRY TIME. 


227 


leaving the team behind him. He ran into the 
barn, and came out with a shovel in his hand. 

The oxen were trudging on several rods 
away, and Heartsease had not started. 

“ Father, father,” he shouted, trotting along 
by Mr. Chantry’s side, “ let me go with you ! 
’Light will put the oxen in the barn.” 

“No; I can’t have you on my mind,” was 
the answer. Mr. Chantry jumped into the 
hay-cart, and it rattled on. Heartsease slowly 
went down the road, and conducted the oxen 
home. 

“ I call it mean ! ” he repeated to himself a 
great many times. 

But he was not more thrilled by the sudden 
excitement than were the two girls. 

“ Can’t we go ? ” asked Mercy, turning her 
shining eyes on her companion. Delight 
shook her head. 

“ I wish we could,” she answered, “ but I 
don’t see how. We can’t walk, and I know 
mother wouldn’t let us drive either of the 
horses. Girls always have to stay at home ! ” 

“ How awful if a south wind should rise ! ” 
exclaimed Mercy. “ Think of the fire sweep- 


228 


CHUMS. 


ing right down over those woods back of the 
pasture there ! ” 

“ See ! The blaze ! ” shouted Heartsease, 
who, having hurried from the barn, was stand- 
ing on a fence, imagining he could see better. 

A sheet of yellow flame flickered up for a 
moment in the density of the smoke. The 
children could almost fancy they heard the 
rush of fire in the tall trees. Then the smoke 
grew blacker than ever. 

Several moments passed, during which the 
fluctuating of the smoke was watched in si- 
lence, save for the boy’s ejaculations. 

Then was heard the sound of wheels again ; 
this time it was the wheels of Sanxay Ran- 
ier’s phaeton, and his ponies were driven into 
the yard by their owner. 

“ I want you all to come up to Park’s Hill 
with me,” he said. “ I have just been over 
there, and the fire is magnificent from the 
brow of the hill.” 

Delight ran into the house to ask her 
mother’s permission, which was given, and 
then the crowded little phaeton went back 
again the way it had come. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE LAST. 

T T was very nearly sunset by the time the 
party reached the top of Park’s Hill, which 
was about three miles from Delight’s home. 
It was a very bad road which led to the hill, 
and the ponies must walk the whole distance. 

On the way they could look across the 
wooded valley to the Walton woods, and as 
night came on the lurid scene grew every 
moment more terrible and grand. 

“ I should have come for you before,” said 
Sanxay, at last stopping his ponies on the 
summit, “ only I thought if it were evening it 
would be so much grander.” 

“ It is like a monster,” said Delight, standing 
up in the phaeton, from which the canopy had 
been taken off. 

She had that feeling which fire so often 

229 


CHUMS. 


230 

gives one; as if it were conscious and alive, 
and seeking knowingly what it might devour. 

Mercy was so awed and subdued that she 
did not speak. She stood and gazed with wide 
eyes. She had never seen anything in the 
least like this before. 

“We will go down a couple of miles nearer,”' 
said Sanxay, at the end of half an hour. “We 
shall never have another chance at such a 
sight.” 

No one objected, and the ponies trotted 
slowly on. It was too hot for them to go 
fast, and the air was so thick with smoke that 
the lungs laboured heavily for life. 

“ It is like fighting for one’s breath,” said 
Mercy, who was more affected than the others. 
Even Sanxay seemed to breathe more easily 
than Mercy. 

Behind them panted the huge bulk of Tiny 
Tim. 

“ He begged so hard to come that I couldn’t 
say no,” said his master, “ although I explained 
to him how uncomfortable he would be.” 

By this time they could distinctly feel the 
heat from the fire; and they could hear the 


THE LAST. 


231 


rending and crackling of huge tree limbs, and 
the shouts of men, as they worked on the 
borders of the fire, trying to prevent its spread- 
ing. Another turn, and they could see in the 
glare the figures of the men. Some of them 
had large branches of pine with which they 
beat at the fire ; others with the long shovels 
quickly flung sand and earth, and thus smoth- 
ered the flame which seemed to creep and 
elude, and spring up again a few yards away. 

Although there were many men, and they 
worked like giants, they only partially held the 
terrible power in check; but they did gain 
some victory over it, and they worked and 
hoped for more. A few of them secretly and 
despairingly prayed for rain, thinking they had 
seen in the sky that morning unfailing signs 
of showers before midnight. 

“ Let us walk nearer the fire,” said Mercy, at 
last. 

Delight remonstrated, but Mercy and Hearts- 
ease wished to go, and they did, while Sanxay 
and Delight sat in the carriage and watched 
them slowly making their way, fascinated more 
and more with every step they took. 


232 


CHUMS. 


“ I suppose there is no danger,” said Delight, 
somewhat uneasily. 

“ Not a bit,” said Sanxay, positively. “ How 
can there be ? ” 

Neither knew of one peculiarity of forest 
fires in such a drought ; that they would 
seem to leap over an intervening space, 
and suddenly burst out in a new locality. 
It appeared as if the wood or bushes were 
so dry that they burst into spontaneous flame, 
indeed there is a theory to that effect; but 
perhaps here the different fires were kindled 
by unnoticed sparks dropping among dry 
leaves. 

Certainly now Heartsease and Mercy were 
not near enough to cause the least reasonable 
anxiety. They stood within a few yards of each 
other, gazing intently. 

Suddenly Sanxay, who was more sensitive 
to any atmospheric change than most people, 
began to climb out of the phaeton. 

The glare of light revealed some unwonted 
expression on his face. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Delight, quickly, lean- 
ing far out of the carriage. 


THE LAST. 


233 


“ I think there’s a south wind rising. I am 
going to call to them.” 

“ But let me go ! ” and Delight was going to 
jump out. 

“ Stay with the ponies,” he called back. 
“ I’m only going to mount that fence. I 
have my dog whistle with me ; and they 
couldn’t hear a voice.” 

His view of the matter was apparently right, 
and Delight sank back on the seat. Even as she 
saw Sanxay on the fence, and heard his shrill 
whistle above the sound of the fire, a roar came 
over the burning woods and over the unburned 
forest on each side. The trees bent and lashed, 
the flames ran and licked forward for rods ; a 
shout came from the men ; like figures, dim 
and sooty, in Hades, they fled backward. The 
dreaded south wind had come, had come in a 
gale that was a fiend to help the fire. 

Delight saw the dwarf on the fence; she 
saw Mercy and Heartsease turn to fly back. 
She saw a sweeping brand come down out of 
the air, striking Mercy on her head; she saw 
the girl drop to the hot ground, while Hearts- 
ease, who was ahead and did not see, came 


234 


CHUMS. 


dashing on toward Sanxay. The dwarf, how- 
ever, had seen, and, jumping from the fence, 
went as fast as possible toward the spot where 
Mercy lay, the yellow shape of the St. Bernard 
after him. 

All this happened in a few seconds of time ; 
and Delight, half stupefied, was stepping on 
to the low step, and had not noticed that the 
gust of wind had made the ponies uneasy, 
when she was thrown back on the seat, and 
the ponies, now thoroughly frightened by all 
they had seen and heard, started off at a run. 

Delight lurched forward for the reins, which 
had been hung over the dash - board. She 
grasped them, but not until the animals had 
gone a mile could she have any success in 
stopping them. 

Thus with an agony of fear in her heart for 
those she loved, the girl was obliged to ride 
away from them. 

It seemed so long to her before she was able 
to turn the ponies back, and then, after a quar- 
ter of a mile, they absolutely refused to take 
another step; they were afraid to go back. 
Delight, had nothing, been at stake, would 


THE LAST. 


235 


have been too frightened to return. The 
south wind roared a gale, and to that sound 
there was added the rush of the flames, the 
sound of falling limbs, the whole terrible noise 
of fire. 

Delight left the ponies in the middle of the 
road, and ran as fast as she could up the hill. 
But her feet were weighted. It was like run- 
ning and struggling as one runs and struggles 
in a nightmare. 

She had not noticed, and probably no one 
there had seen the heavy black cloud approach- 
ing, beaten by the wind, but coming up for all 
that, like a giant that will have its way. But 
who in that smoky blackness could have ob- 
served, had eyes been at liberty, anything save 
the flames before them ? 

Terror-stricken, Delight saw how the flames 
had made headway while she had been gone. 

Half a dozen men were hurrying forward 
to the fence over which her friends and her 
brother had climbed. 

She saw her fathers figure, and he had 
some burden in his arms. Was it Hearts- 
ease } No, for he was running by his father’s 


236 


CHUMS. 


side. The man striding behind also bore a 
burden, a lighter one evidently, and beside 
him walked Tiny Tim. 

Just as they came to the fence the fire 
reached out, and two tall trees close to them 
sprang into flames. The heat was well-nigh 
intolerable ; it seemed as if they could not find 
strength to take down the fence bars, — as if 
the fire must kill them. 

Delight sprang forward, and then stood 
cowering, as she heard her father’s voice cry, 
hoarsely : 

“ Keep back ! ” 

One of the men in the rear sank down on 
the scorching ground, unable to move farther, 
although knowing that to fall was to die. 

Suddenly two or three great rain-drops fell 
splashing, and the next instant sheets of water 
poured down hissing upon the burning woods. 
The rain fell in torrents ; it seemed but a breath 
of time before there was no perceptible sign of 
fire. The men could breathe again. The man 
who had fallen rose feebly to his feet, revived. 

Delight now pressed forward unreproved. 
She could not see anything, however, but she 


THE LAST. 


237 


knew that her father had brought Mercy in 
his arms. 

“ What is it ? ” she asked, so close to her 
father’s side that, in the deafening noise of 
wind and rain, he heard her. 

“ Mercy was hurt,” he answered, and she did 
not ask any more. 

In five minutes the clouds parted a little, and 
the wind began to subside. It rained more 
moderately. 

“ I think I can stand now,” said a voice 
from Mr. Chantry’s shoulder. 

“Thank God for that!” was his fervent 
exclamation. 

The next moment Mercy was leaning heavily 
in Delight’s arms. She had been injured by 
that blow from the flying brand, and came near 
dying of suffocation afterward. But the dash 
of rain in her face had revived her. 

“ Where is Sanxay ? ” she asked, quickly, and 
shuddering as she spoke. “ He and his dog 
tried to pull me away before the men came. I 
knew it; I tried to tell him to go away; but 
my breath came so hard I ” — and she panted 
as she spoke 


238 


CHUMS. 


It was very dark now in contrast to the vivid 
glow of the fire. But it was growing lighter, 
as the clouds broke and eyes became accus- 
tomed to the obscurity. 

The man who held the small form of the 
dwarf was kneeling on one knee. The girls 
heard him say: 

“ His heart beats ; but I guess it’s about over 
with him.” 

“ Something must be done ! ” cried De- 
light, springing forward, and leaving Mercy 
to cling to the post of the fence. “He shall 
not die ! ” 

Mr. Long had gone already to bring around 
one of the teams that had fetched some of the 
men to the fire. 

“We must wait here until he comes,” said 
Mr. Chantry. 

The dog sat down close to his master. 

Neither of the girls ever forgot that half 
hour of waiting in the dripping rain and the 
smoke-filled darkness. 

When the cart came, they took Sanxay and 
the girls to the nearest house, a mile away, and 
some one rode off for the doctor. 


THE LAST. 


239 

After a stimulant had been given to Sanxay 
he opened his eyes. 

“ It’s no use,” he murmured. “ Where’s my 
mother ? She will care.” 

Then he lay silent for several moments. 
Without opening his eyes he said : 

“ Tim must be Mercy’s dog.” 

Hearing his name, Tiny Tim put his nose 
against his master’s hand. 

“ Mercy’s dog,” repeated Sanxay. 

Mercy stood a little distance from the lounge 
on which Sanxay was lying. Both her hands 
were pressed against her heart, which she felt 
would burst. 

Delight was by her, her face colourless, her 
eyes wide and full of suffering. 

The boy moved restlessly a few moments ; 
cried “Mother!” in a voice of entreaty, and 
then was still. 

“ It is all over with him,” said Mr. Chantry, 
after bending down over the little form. “ I 
will go to his mother ; God help her 1 ” 

“ It was because he tried to help me,” said 
Mercy, speaking for the first time an hour 
later, when the two girls were at Delight’s 


240 


CHUMS. 


home. And they both cried as if their hearts 
were breaking. 

It was in the latter part of the next week 
that they were to go back to the Institute. On 
the day before, a man drove into the yard. He 
was in an express wagon, and a big dog was 
chained in the back of the vehicle. 

“ Mrs. Ranier said I was to deliver this 
animal to Miss Mercy Anthony at Mr. Chan- 
try’s,” he said, “ and this letter.” 

The St. Bernard came gravely toward Mercy 
and stood by her side, as if he understood that, 
henceforward, that was his place. 

It was some time after the man had driven 
away before Mercy had power to open the 
letter. It was only a few lines. 

“ My dear son wished you to have Tiny Tim. I know 
you will love him and care for him. Sanxay always loved 
you, and I, also, was drawn to you. Perhaps, if you are 
not too happy in the home of your guardian, you will 
spend, hereafter, much of your time with me, although I 
am a lonely and sorrowful woman. If you do not object, 
I will try to make some such arrangement.” 

Mercy kissed the letter with trembling lips. 
Not to have to consider Uncle Benedict’s as 


THE LAST. 


241 


her only home! To think of that lovely 
woman who had been so kind to her as 
really her friend! 

Then she looked down at the dog, knelt by 
his side, flung her arms around his neck, and 
wept until his yellow hair was wet. 

“ Do you think the fire was what the gipsy 
meant, in her prediction } ” asked Delight, as 
they were in the cars riding toward Holden 
Mountain Institute. 

Mercy shuddered. 

“ But it was odd, wasn’t it ? ” continued 
Delight. “ It just happened so.” 

After that, they tried to talk of their studies 
for the term about to begin, but their minds 
would go back to their vacation. 

Tiny Tim was in the baggage-car. On the 
arrival of the girls at the Institute special 
arrangements were made with Madame Del- 
mont for his comfort ; he had his kennel in a 
back yard, and always accompanied Mercy and 
Delight on every walk and excursion where 
he could possibly be present. 

THE END. 








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L. C. Page & Company’s 
Gift Book Series 

FOR 

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Each one volume, tall I2mo, cloth. Illustrated, $1,00 


The Little Coloners House Party. By Annie Fellows- 

JOHNSTON. 

Author of “ Little Colonel,” etc. Illustrated by E. B. Barry. 

Mrs. Johnston has endeared herself to the children by her 
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Chums. By Maria Louise Pool. 

Author of “Little Bermuda,” etc. Illustrated by L. J. 
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“ Chums ” is a girls’ book, about girls and for girls. It re- 
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Three Little Crackers. From Dowtn in Dixie. By Will 
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Little Bermuda. By Maria Louise Pool. 

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Songs and Rhymes for the Little Ones. Compiled by Mary 
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New edition, with an introduction by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney. 

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The Young Pearl Divers: A Story of Australian Ad- 
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Selections from 
L. C. Page & Company’s 
Books for Young People 

Old Father Gander; or, The Better-Half of Mother 
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Black Beauty: The Autobiography of a Horse. By 
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Tke Voyage of the Avenger: In the Days of the 
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A Child's History of Spain. By Leonard Williams. 
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Fairy Folk from Far and Near* By A. C. Woolf, M. A. 
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I vol., large izmo, cloth decorative . . . ^^1.50 

It is long since there has appeared such a thoroughly de- 
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The Magnet Stories. By Lynde Palmer. 

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Drifting and Steering ^i.oo 

One Day's "Weaving i-oo 

Archie's Shadow i-oo 

John-Jack i-oo 

Jeannette's Cisterns i-oo 


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FOR 

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Memories of the Manse. By Anne Breadalbane. Illus- 
trated. 

Christmas at Thompson Hall. By Anthony Trollope. 

A Provence Rose. By Louise de la Ramee (Ouida). 

In Distance and in Dream. By M. F. Sweetser. 

A story of immortality, treating with profound insight of 
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which is to come. 

Will o^ the Mill. By Robert Louis Stevenson. 

An allegorical story by this inimitable and versatile writer. 
Its rare poetic quality, its graceful and delicate fancy, 
its strange power and fascination, justify its separate 
publication. 




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